MATADOR  OF  FIVE  TOWN; 


THE  MATADOR  OF 
THE  FIVE  TOWNS 


THE  MATADOR  OF 
THE  FIVE  TOWNS 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE." 
"  BURIED  ALIVE."  ETC. 


NEW  ^tSJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


College 
Library 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  DOG  .............  7 

THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH    .........  26 

BABY'S  BATH  ............  38 

JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  ..........  56 

THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     .......  83 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    .....  165 

THE  FEUD      ............  217 

THE  LION'S  SHARE    ..........  244 

THE  SILENT  BROTHERS   .........  263 

BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR  ........  286 

HlS  WORSHIP  THE  GOOSEDRIVER     ......  298 

THE  IDIOT      ............  324 

NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    .......  333 

MIMI    ..............  360 

FROM  ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER  .....  385 

THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN  ......  404 


1164274 


All  the  stories  here  given  are  now  published 
for  the  first  time  in  volume  form  in  the 
United  States.  A  number  of  them,  however, 
have  previously  appeared  in  volume  form  in 
England. 

A.  B. 


THE  DOG 

THIS  is  a  scandalous  story.     It  scandalised 
the  best  people  in  Bursley;  some  of  them 
would  wish  it  forgotten.     But  since  I  have 
begun  to  tell  it  I  may  as  well  finish.     Moreover,  like 
most  tales  whispered  behind  fans  and  across  club- 
tables,  it  carries  a  high  and  valuable  moral.     The 
moral  —  I  will  let  you  have  it  at  once  —  is  that 
those  who  love  in  glass  houses  should  pull  down 
the  blinds. 


He  had  got  his  collar  on  safely;  it  bore  his  name 
—  Ellis  Carter.  Strange  name  for  a  dog,  perhaps; 
and  perhaps  it  was  even  more  strange  that  his  collar 
should  be  white.  But  such  dogs  are  not  common 
dogs.  He  tied  his  necktie  exquisitely;  caressed  his 
hair  again  with  two  brushes ;  curved  his  young  mous- 
tache, and  then  assumed  his  waistcoat  and  his  coat; 
the  trousers  had  naturally  preceded  the  collar.  He 
beheld  the  suit  in  the  glass,  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 
And  it  was  not  built  in  London,  either.  There  are 
tailors  in  Bursley.  And  in  particular  there  is  the 
dog's  tailor.  Ask  the  dog's  tailor,  as  the  dog  once 
did,  whether  he  can  really  do  as  well  as  London, 
and  he  will  smile  on  you  with  gentle  pity;  he  will  not 

7 


8       MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

stoop  to  utter  the  obvious  Yes.  He  may  casually 
inform  you  that,  if  he  is  not  in  London  himself,  the 
explanation  is  that  he  has  reasons  for  preferring 
Bursley.  He  is  the  social  equal  of  all  his  clients.  He 
belongs  to  the  dog's  club.  He  knows,  and  everybody 
knows,  that  he  is  a  first-class  tailor  with  a  first-class 
connection,  and  no  dog  would  dare  to  condescend  to 
him.  He  is  a  great  creative  artist;  the  dogs  who 
wear  his  clothes  may  be  said  to  interpret  his  crea- 
tions. Now,  Ellis  was  a  great  interpretative  artist, 
and  the  tailor  recognised  the  fact.  When  the  tailor 
met  Ellis  on  Duck  Bank  greatly  wearing  a  new  suit, 
the  scene  was  impressive.  It  was  as  though  Elgar 
had  stopped  to  hear  Paderewski  play  "  Pomp  and 
Circumstance  "  on  the  piano. 

Ellis  descended  from  his  bedroom  into  the  hall, 
took  his  straw  hat,  chose  a  stick,  and  went  out  into 
the  portico  of  the  new  large  house  on  the  Hawkins, 
near  Oldcastle.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Five 
Towns  no  road  is  more  august,  more  correct,  more 
detached,  more  umbrageous,  than  the  Hawkins. 
M.  P.'s  live  there.  It  is  the  link  between  the  aristo- 
cratic and  antique  aloofness  of  Oldcastle  and  the 
solid  commercial  prosperity  of  the  Five  Towns.  El- 
lis adorned  the  portico.  Young  (a  bare  twenty- 
two),  fair,  handsome,  smiling,  graceful,  well-built, 
perfectly  groomed,  he  was  an  admirable  and  a  char- 
acteristic specimen  of  the  race  of  dogs  which,  with  the 
modern  growth  of  luxury  and  the  Luxurious  Spirit, 
has  become  so  marked  a  phenomenon  in  the  social 
development  of  the  once  barbarous  Five  Towns. 


THE  DOG  9 

When  old  Jack  Carter  (reputed  to  be  the  best 
turner  that  Bursley  ever  produced)  started  a  little 
potbank  near  St.  Peter's  Church  in  1861  — he  was 
then  forty,  and  had  saved  two  hundred  pounds  — 
he  little  dreamt  that  the  supreme  and  final  result 
after  forty  years  would  be  the  dog.  But  so  it  was. 
Old  Jack  Carter  had  a  son  John  Carter,  who  mar- 
ried at  twenty-five  and  lived  at  first  on  twenty-five 
shillings  a  week,  and  enthusiastically  continued  the 
the  erection  of  the  fortune  which  old  Jack  had  be- 
gun. At  thirty-three,  after  old  Jack's  death,  John 
became  a  Town  Councillor.  At  thirty-six  he  be- 
came Mayor  and  the  father  of  Ellis,  and  the  recipi- 
ent of  a  silver  cradle.  Ellis  was  his  wife's  maiden 
name.  At  forty-two  he  built  the  finest  earthenware 
manufactory  in  Bursley,  down  by  the  canal-side  at 
Shawport.  At  fifty-two  he  had  been  everything  that 
a  man  can  be  in  the  Five  Towns  —  from  County 
Councillor  to  President  of  the  Society  for  the  Prose- 
cution of  Felons.  Then  Ellis  left  school  and  came 
to  the  works  to  carry  on  the  tradition,  and  his  father 
suddenly  discovered  him.  The  truth  was  that  John 
Carter  had  been  so  laudably  busy  with  the  affairs  of 
his  town  and  county  that  he  had  nearly  forgotten  his 
family.  Ellis,  in  the  process  of  achieving  doghood, 
soon  taught  his  father  a  thing  or  two.  And  John 
learnt.  John  could  manage  a  public-meeting,  but 
he  could  not  manage  Ellis.  Besides,  there  was 
plenty  of  money;  and  Ellis  was  so  ingratiating,  and 
had  curly  hair  that  somehow  won  sympathy.  And, 
after  all,  Ellis  was  not  such  a  duffer  as  all  that 


io     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

at  the  works.  John  knew  other  people's  sons  who 
were  worse.  And  Ellis  could  keep  order  in  the 
paintresses'  "  shops  "  as  order  had  never  been  kept 
there  before. 

John  sometimes  wondered  what  old  Jack  would 
have  said  about  Ellis  and  his  friends,  those  hand- 
some dogs,  those  fine  dandies,  who  taught  to  the 
Five  Towns  the  virtue  of  grace  and  of  style  and  of 
dash,  who  went  up  to  London  —  some  of  them  even 
went  to  Paris  —  and  brought  back  civilisation  to 
the  Five  Towns,  who  removed  from  the  Five  Towns 
the  reproach  of  being  uncouth  and  behind  the  times. 
Was  the  outcome  of  two  generations  of  unremitting 
toil  merely  Ellis?  (Ellis  had  several  pretty  sisters, 
but  they  did  not  count.)  John  could  only  guess  at 
what  old  Jack's  attitude  might  have  been  towards 
Ellis  —  Ellis,  who  had  his  shirts  made  to  measure. 
He  knew  exactly  what  was  Ellis's  attitude  towards 
the  ideals  of  old  Jack,  old  Jack  the  class-leader,  who 
wore  clogs  till  he  was  thirty,  and  dined  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves at  one  o'clock  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

Ellis  quitted  the  portico,  ran  down  the  winding 
garden-path,  and  jumped  neatly  and  fearlessly  on  to 
an  electric  tramcar  as  it  passed  at  the  rate  of  fifteen 
miles  an  hour.  The  car  was  going  to  Hanbridge, 
and  it  was  crowded  with  the  joy  of  life;  Ellis  had  to 
stand  on  the  step.  This  was  the  Saturday  before 
the  first  Monday  in  August,  and  therefore  the  formal 
opening  of  Knype  Wakes,  the  most  carnivalesque  of 
all  the  carnivals  which  enliven  the  four  seasons  in  the 
Five  Towns.  It  is  still  called  Knype  Wakes,  be- 


THE  DOG  ii 

cause  once  Knype  overshadowed  Hanbridge  in  im- 
portance; but  its  headquarters  are  now  quite  prop- 
erly at  Hanbridge,  the  hub,  the  centre,  the  Paris  of 
the  Five  Towns  —  Hanbridge,  the  county  borough 
of  sixty  odd  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is  the  festival 
of  the  masses  that  old  Jack  sprang  from,  and  every 
genteel  person  who  can  leaves  the  Five  Towns  for 
the  seaside  at  the  end  of  July.  Nevertheless,  the  dis- 
trict is  never  more  crammed  than  at  Knype  Wakes. 
And,  of  course,  genteel  persons,  whom  circumstances 
have  forced  to  remain  in  the  Five  Towns,  sally  out 
in  the  evening  to  "  do  "  the  Wakes  in  a  spirit  of  tol- 
erant condescension.  Ellis  was  in  this  case.  His 
parents  and  sisters  were  at  Llandudno,  and  he  had 
been  left  in  charge  of  the  works  and  of  the  new  house. 
He  was  always  free;  he  could  always  pity  the  bond- 
age of  his  sisters;  but  now  he  was  more  free  than 
ever  —  he  was  absolutely  free.  Imagine  the  de- 
licious feeling  that  surged  in  his  heart  as  he  prepared 
to  plunge  himself  doggishly  into  the  wild  ocean  of 
the  Wakes.  By  the  way,  in  that  heart  was  the  image 
of  a  girl. 

II 

He  stepped  off  the  car  on  the  outskirts  of  Han- 
bridge, and  strolled  gently  and  spectacularly  into  the 
joyous  town.  The  streets  became  more  and  more 
crowded  and  noisy  as  he  approached  the  market- 
place, and  in  Crown  Square  tramcars  from  the  four 
quarters  of  the  earth  discharged  tramloads  of  hu- 
manity at  the  rate  of  two  a  minute,  and  then  glided 


12     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

off  again  empty  in  search  of  more  humanity.  The 
lower  portion  of  Crown  Square  was  devoted  to  tram- 
lines; in  the  upper  portion  the  Wakes  began,  and 
spread  into  the  market-place,  and  thence  by  many 
tentacles  into  all  manner  of  streets. 

No  Wakes  is  better  than  Knype  Wakes ;  that  is  to 
say,  no  Wakes  is  more  ear-splitting,  more  terrific, 
more  dizzying,  or  more  impassable.  When  you  go 
to  Knype  Wakes  you  get  stuck  in  the  midst  of  an 
enormous  crowd,  and  you  see  roundabouts,  swings, 
switchbacks,  myrioramas,  atrocity  booths,  quack  den- 
tists, shooting-galleries,  cocoanut-shies,  and  bazaars, 
all  around  you.  Every  establishment  is  jewelled, 
gilded,  and  electrically  lighted;  every  establishment 
has  an  orchestra,  most  often  played  by  steam  and 
conducted  by  a  stoker;  every  establishment  has  a 
steam-whistle,  which  shrieks  at  the  beginning  and  at 
the  end  of  each  round  or  performance.  You  stand 
fixed  in  the  multitude  listening  to  a  thousand  orches- 
tras and  whistles,  with  the  roar  of  machinery  and  the 
merry  din  of  car-bells,  and  the  popping  of  rifles  for 
a  background  of  noise.  Your  eyes  are  charmed  by 
the  whirling  of  a  million  lights  and  the  mad  whirling 
of  millions  of  beautiful  girls  and  happy  youths  under 
the  lights.  For  the  roundabouts  rule  the  scene;  the 
roundabouts  take  the  money.  The  supreme  desire 
of  the  revellers  is  to  describe  circles,  either  on  horse- 
back or  in  yachts,  either  simple  circles  or  complex 
circles,  either  up  and  down  or  straight  along,  but 
always  circles.  And  it  is  as  though  inventors  had 
sat  up  at  nights  puzzling  their  brains  how  best  to 


THE  DOG  13 

make  revellers  seasick  while  keeping  them  equidistant 
from  a  steam-orchestra.  .  .  .  Then  the  crowd 
solidly  lurches,  and  you  find  yourself  up  against  a 
dentist,  or  a  firm  of  wrestlers,  or  a  roundabout,  or  an 
ice-cream  refectory,  and  you  take  what  comes.  You 
have  begun  to  "  do  "  the  Wakes.  The  splendid  in- 
sanity seizes  you.  The  lights,  the  colours,  the  ex- 
plosions, the  shrieks,  the  feathered  hats,  the  pretty 
faces  as  they  fly  past,  the  gilding,  the  statuary,  the 
August  night,  and  the  mingling  of  a  thousand  melo- 
dies in  a  counterpoint  beyond  the  dreams  of  Wagner 
—  these  things  have  stirred  the  sap  of  life  in  you, 
have  shown  you  how  fine  it  is  to  be  alive,  and,  care- 
less and  free,  have  caught  up  your  spirit  into  a 
heaven  from  which  you  scornfully  survey  the  year 
of  daily  toil  between  one  Wakes  and  another  as  the 
eagle  scornfully  surveys  the  potato-field.  Your  nos- 
trils dilate  —  nay,  matters  reach  such  a  pass  that, 
even  if  you  are  genteel,  you  forget  to  condescend. 

in 

After  Ellis  had  had  the  correct  drink  in  the  pri- 
vate bar  up  the  passage  at  the  Turk's  Head,  and 
after  he  had  plunged  into  the  crowd  and  got  lost  in 
it,  and  submitted  good-humouredly  to  the  frequent 
ordeal  of  the  penny  squirt  as  administered  by  ador- 
able creatures  in  bright  skirts,  he  found  himself  cast 
up  by  the  human  ocean  on  the  macadam  shore  near 
a  shooting-gallery.  This  was  no  ordinary  shooting- 
gallery.  It  was  one  of  Jenkins's  affairs  (Jenkins  of 
Manchester) ,  and  on  either  side  of  it  Jenkins's  Ven- 


i4    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

etian  gondolas  and  Jenkins's  Mexican  mustangs  were 
whizzing  round  two  of  Jenkins's  orchestras  at  two- 
pence a  time,  and  taking  thirty-two  pounds  an  hour. 
This  gallery  was  very  different  from  the  old  galleries, 
in  which  you  leaned  against  a  brass  bar  and  shot 
up  a  kind  of  a  drain.  This  gallery  was  a  large  and 
brilliant  room,  with  the  front-wall  taken  out.  It 
was  hung  with  mirrors  and  cretonnes,  it  was  richly 
carpeted,  and,  of  course,  it  was  lighted  by  electricity. 
Carved  and  gilded  tables  bore  a  whole  armoury  of 
weapons.  You  shot  at  tobacco-pipes,  twisting  and 
stationary,  at  balls  poised  on  jets  of  water,  and  at 
proper  targets.  In  the  corners  of  the  saloon,  near 
the  open,  were  large  crimson  plush  lounges,  on 
which  you  lounged  after  the  fatigue  of  shooting. 

A  pink-clad  girl,  young  and  radiant,  had  the  con- 
cern in  charge. 

She  was  speeding  a  party  of  bankrupt  shooters, 
when  she  caught  sight  of  Ellis.  Ellis  answered  her 
smile,  and  strolled  up  to  the  booth  with  a  counte- 
nance that  might  have  meant  anything.  You  can 
never  tell  what  a  dog  is  thinking. 

"'Ello!"  said  the  girl  prettily  (or,  rather,  she 
shouted  prettily,  having  to  compete  with  the  two 
orchestras).  "You  here  again?" 

The  truth  was  that  Ellis  had  been  there  on  the 
previous  night,  when  the  Wakes  was  only  half- 
opened,  and  he  had  come  again  to-night  expressly  in 
order  to  see  her;  but  he  would  not  have  admitted, 
even  to  himself,  that  he  had  come  expressly  in  order 
to  see  her;  in  his  mind  it  was  just  a  chance  that  he 


THE  DOG  15 

might  see  her.  She  was  a  jolly  girl.  (We  are 
gradually  approaching  the  scandalous  part.) 

"  What  a  jolly  frock!  "  he  said,  when  he  had  shot 
five  celluloid  balls  in  succession  off  a  jet  of  water. 

Smiling,  she  mechanically  took  a  ball  out  of  the 
basket  and  let  it  roll  down  the  conduit  to  the  foun- 
tain. 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  she  replied,  smoothing  the 
fluffy  muslin  apron  with  her  small  hands,  black  from 
contact  with  the  guns.  "  That  one  I  wore  last  night 
was  my  second-best.  I  only  wear  this  on  Saturdays 
and  Mondays." 

He  nodded  like  a  connoisseur.  The  sixth  ball 
had  sprung  up  to  the  top  of  the  jet.  He  removed  it 
with  the  certainty  of  a  King's  Prize  winner,  and  she 
complimented  him. 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  "  you  should  have  seen  me  before 
I  took  to  smoking  and  drinking !  " 

She  laughed  freely.  She  was  always  showing 
her  fine  teeth.  And  she  had  such  a  frank,  jolly 
countenance,  not  exactly  pretty  —  better  than 
pretty.  She  was  a  little  short  and  a  little  plump, 
and  she  wore  a  necklace  round  her  neck,  a  ring  on 
her  dainty,  dirty  finger,  and  a  watch-bracelet  on  her 
wrist. 

"  Why  1  "  she  exclaimed.     "  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  retorted. 

Dogs  do  not  give  things  away  like  that. 

"  I'm  nineteen,"  she  said  submissively.  "  At 
least,  I  shall  be  come  Martinmas." 

And  she  yawned. 


1 6     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  a  little  girl  like  you  ought  to 
be  in  bed." 

"  Sunday  to-morrow,"  she  observed. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  you're  English  ?  "  he  remarked. 
"  If  you  were  in  Paris  you'd  have  to  work  Sundays 
too." 

"Not  me!"  she  said.  "Who  told  you  that? 
Have  you  been  to  Paris?" 

"No,"  he  admitted  cautiously;  "but  a  friend  of 
mine  has,  and  he  told  me.  He  came  back  only  last 
week,  and  he  says  they  keep  open  Sundays,  and  all 
night  sometimes.  Sunday  is  the  great  day  over 
there." 

"  Well,"  said  the  girl  kindly,  "  don't  you  believe 
it.  The  police  wouldn't  allow  it.  I  know  what  the 
police  are." 

More  shooters  entered  the  saloon.  Ellis  had  fin- 
ished his  dozen;  he  sank  into  a  lounge,  and  elegantly 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  watched  her  serve  the  other 
marksmen.  She  was  decidedly  charming,  and  so 
jolly  —  with  him.  He  noticed  with  satisfaction  that 
with  the  other  marksmen  she  showed  a  certain  high 
reserve. 

They  did  not  stay  long,  and  when  they  were  gone 
she  came  across  to  the  lounge  and  gazed  at  him 
provocatively. 

"  Dashed  if  she  hasn't  taken  a  fancy  to  me!  " 

The  thought  ran  through  him  like  lightning. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

14  What  do  you  do  with  yourself  Sundays?"  he 
asked  her. 


THE  DOG  17 

"  Oh,  sleep!" 

"All  day?" 

"  All  morning." 

"  What  do  you  do  in  the  afternoon?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

She  laughed  gaily. 

"  Come  out  with  me,  eh?" 

11  To-morrow?  Oh,  I  should  LOVE  TO!  "  she 
cried. 

Her  voice  expanded  into  large  capitals  because 
by  a  singular  chance  both  the  neighbouring  orchestras 
stopped  momentarily  together,  and  thus  gave  her 
shout  a  fair  field.  The  effect  was  startling.  It 
startled  Ellis.  He  had  not  for  an  instant  expected 
that  she  would  consent.  Never,  dog  though  he  was, 
had  he  armed  a  girl  out  on  any  afternoon,  to  say 
nothing  of  Sunday  afternoon,  and  Knype's  Wakes 
Sunday  at  that  I  He  had  talked  about  girls  at  the 
club.  He  understood  the  theory.  But  the  prac- 
tice  

The  foundation  of  England's  greatness  is  that 
Englishmen  hate  to  look  fools.  The  fear  of  being 
taken  for  a  ninny  will  spur  an  Englishman  to  the 
most  surprising  deeds  of  courage.  Ellis  said 
"Good!"  with  apparent  enthusiasm,  and  arranged 
to  be  waiting  for  her  at  half-past  two  at  the  Turk's 
Head.  Then  he  left  the  saloon  and  struck  out 
anew  into  the  ocean.  He  wanted  to  think  it 
over. 

Once,  painful  to  relate,  he  had  thoughts  of  fail- 
ing to  keep  the  appointment.  However,  she  was 


1 8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

so  jolly  and  frank.     And  what  a  fancy  she  must  have 
taken  to  him!     No,  he  would  see  it  through. 

IV 

If  anybody  had  prophesied  to  Ellis  that  he  would 
be  driving  out  a  Wakes  girl  in  a  dog-cart  that  Sun- 
day afternoon  he  would  have  laughed  at  the  prophet; 
but  so  it  occurred.  He  arrived  at  the  Turk's  Head 
at  two  twenty-five.  She  was  there  before  him,  dressed 
all  in  blue,  except  the  white  shoes  and  stockings, 
weighing  herself  on  the  machine  in  the  yard.  She 
showed  her  teeth,  told  him  she  weighed  nine  stone 
one,  and  abruptly  asked  him  if  he  could  drive.  He 
said  he  could.  She  clapped  her  hands  and  sprang 
off  the  machine.  Her  father  had  bought  a  new  mare 
the  day  before,  and  it  was  in  the  Turk's  Head  stable, 
and  the  yardman  said  it  wanted  exercise,  and  there 
was  a  dogcart  and  harness  idling  about,  and,  in  short, 
Ellis  should  drive  her  to  Sneyd  Park,  which  she  had 
long  desired  to  see. 

Ellis  wished  to  ask  questions,  but  the  moment  did 
not  seem  auspicious. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  new  mare,  a  high  and  some- 
what frisky  bay,  with  big  shoulders,  was  in  the  shafts 
of  a  high,  green  dogcart.  When  asked  if  he  could 
drive,  Ellis  ought  to  have  answered :  "  That  depends 
—  on  the  horse."  Many  men  can  tool  a  fifteen-year- 
old  screw  down  a  country  lane  who  would  hesitate 
to  get  up  behind  a  five-year-old  animal  (in  need  of 
exercise)  for  a  spin  down  Broad  Street,  Hanbridge, 
on  Knype  Wakes  Sunday.  Ellis  could  drive;  he 


THE  DOG  19 

could  just  drive.  His  father  had  always  steadfastly 
refused  to  keep  horses,  but  the  fathers  of  other  dogs 
were  more  progressive,  and  Ellis  had  had  opportuni- 
ties. He  knew  how  to  take  the  reins,  and  get  up,  and 
give  the  office;  indeed,  he  had  read  a  hand-book  on 
the  subject.  So  he  took  the  reins  and  got  up,  and  the 
Wakes  girl  got  up. 

He  chirruped.     The  mare  merely  backed. 

"  Give  'er  'er  mouth,"  said  the  yardman  disgust- 
edly. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Ellis,  and  slackened  the  reins,  and 
the  mare  pawed  forward. 

Then  he  had  to  turn  her  in  the  yard,  and  get  her 
and  the  dogcart  down  the  passage.  He  doubted 
whether  he  should  do  it,  for  the  passage  seemed  a 
size  too  small.  However,  he  did  it,  or  the  mare  did 
it,  and  the  entire  organism  swerved  across  a  portion 
of  the  footpath  into  Broad  Street. 

For  quite  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  Broad  Street 
Ellis  blushed,  and  kept  his  gaze  between  the  mare's 
ears.  However,  the  mare  went  beautifully.  You 
could  have  driven  her  with  a  silken  thread,  so  it 
seemed.  And  then  the  dog,  growing  accustomed 
to  his  prominence  up  there  on  the  dogcart,  began  to 
be  a  bit  doggy.  He  knew  the  little  thing's  age  and 
weight,  but,  really,  when  you  take  a  girl  out  for  a 
Sunday  spin  you  want  more  information  about  her 
than  that.  He  asked  her  name,  and  her  name  was 
Jenkins  —  Ada.  She  was  the  great  Jenkins's  daugh- 
ter. 

("  Oh,"  thought  Ellis,  "  the  deuce  you  are!  ") 


20    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Father's  gone  to  Manchester  for  the  day,  and 
aunt's  looking  after  me,"  said  Ada. 

"  Do  they  know  you've  come  out  —  like  this?  " 

"  Not  much !  "  She  laughed  deliciously.  "  How 
lovely  it  is !  " 

At  Knype  they  drew  up  before  the  Five  Towns 
Hotel  and  descended.  The  Five  Towns  Hotel  is 
the  greatest  hotel  in  North  Staffordshire.  It  has  two 
hundred  rooms.  It  would  not  entirely  disgrace 
Northumberland  Avenue.  In  the  Five  Towns  it  is 
august,  imposing,  and  unique.  They  had  a  lemon- 
ade there,  and  proceeded.  A  clock  struck;  it  was 
a  near  thing.  No  more  refreshments  now  until  they 
had  passed  the  three-mile  limit! 

Yes!  Not  two  hundred  yards  further  on  she 
spied  an  ice-cream  shop  in  Fleet  Road,  and  Ellis 
learnt  that  she  adored  ice-cream.  The  mare  waited 
patiently  outside  in  the  thronged  street. 

After  that  the  pilgrimage  to  Sneyd  was  punctu- 
ated with  ice-creams.  At  the  Stag  at  Sneyd  (where, 
among  ninety-and-nine  dog-carts,  Ellis's  dogcart  was 
the  brightest  green  of  them  all)  Ada  had  another 
lemonade,  and  Ellis  had  something  else.  They  saw 
the  Park,  and  Ada  giggled  charmingly  her  apprecia- 
tion of  its  beauty.  The  conversation  throughout  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  Ada's  teeth.  Ellis  said  he  would  re- 
turn by  a  different  route,  and  he  managed  to  get  lost. 
How  anyone  driving  to  Hanbridge  from  Sneyd  could 
could  arrive  at  the  mining  village  of  Silverton  is  a 
mystery.  But  Ellis  arrived  there,  and  he  ultimately 
came  out  at  Hillport,  the  aristocratic  suburb  of  Burs- 


THE  DOG  21 

ley,  where  he  had  always  lived  till  the  last  year.  He 
feared  recognition  there,  and  his  fear  was  justified. 
Some  silly  ass,  a  schoolmate,  cried,  "  Go  it!  "  as  the 
machine  bowled  along,  and  the  mischief  was  that  the 
mare,  startled,  went  it.  She  went  it  down  the  curv- 
ing hill,  and  the  vehicle  after  her,  like  a  kettle  tied  to 
a  dog's  tail. 

Ellis  winked  stoutly  at  Ada  when  they  reached 
the  bottom,  and  gave  the  mare  a  piece  of  his  mind, 
to  which  she  objected.  As  they  crossed  the  railway- 
bridge  a  goods-train  ran  underneath  and  puffed  smoke 
into  the  mare's  eyes.  She  set  her  ears  back. 

"  Would  you !  "  cried  Ellis  authoritatively,  and 
touched  her  with  the  whip  (he  had  forgotten  the 
handbook) . 

He  scarcely  touched  her,  but  you  never  know  where 
you  are  with  any  horse.  That  mare,  which  had  been 
a  mirror  of  all  the  virtues  all  the  afternoon,  was  off 
like  a  rocket.  She  overtook  an  electric  car  as  if  it 
had  been  standing  still.  Ellis  sawed  her  mouth;  he 
might  as  well  have  sawed  the  funnel  of  a  locomotive. 
He  had  meant  to  turn  off  and  traverse  Bursley  by  se- 
cluded streets,  but  he  perceived  that  safety  lay  solely 
in  letting  her  go  straight  ahead  up  the  very  steep 
slope  of  Oldcastle  Street  into  the  middle  of  the  town. 
It  would  be  an  amazing  mare  that  galloped  to  the 
top  of  Oldcastle  Street !  She  galloped  nearly  to  the 
top,  and  then  Ellis  began  to  get  hold  of  her  a  bit. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  masculinely  to  Ada. 

And,  conscious  of  victory,  he  jerked  the  mare  to 
the  left  to  avoid  an  approaching  car. 


22     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  next  instant  they  were  anchored  against  the 
roots  of  a  lamp-post.  When  Ellis  saw  the  upper 
half  of  the  lamp-post  bent  down  at  right  angles,  and 
pieces  of  glass  covering  the  pavement,  he  could  not 
believe  that  he  and  his  dogcart  had  done  that,  espe- 
cially as  neither  the  mare,  nor  the  dogcart,  nor  its 
freight,  was  damaged.  The  machine  was  merely 
jammed,  and  the  mare,  satisfied,  stood  quiet,  breath- 
ing rapidly. 

But  Ada  Jenkins  was  crying. 

And  the  car  stopped  a  moment  to  observe.  And 
then  a  number  of  chapel-goers  on  their  way  to  the 
Sytch  Chapel,  which  the  Carter  family  still  faithfully 
attended,  joined  the  scene;  and  then  a  policeman. 

Ellis  sat  like  a  stuck  pig  in  the  dogcart.  He  knew 
that  speech  was  demanded  of  him,  but  he  did  not 
know  where  to  begin. 

The  worst  thing  of  all  was  the  lamp-post,  bent, 
moveless,  unnatural,  atrociously  comic,  accusing  him. 

The  affair  was  over  the  town  in  a  minute;  the  next 
morning  it  reached  Llandudno.  Ellis  Carter  had 
been  out  on  the  spree  with  a  Wakes  girl  in  a  dogcart 
on  Sunday  afternoon,  and  had  got  into  such  a  condi- 
tion that  he  had  driven  into  a  lamp-post  at  the  top 
of  Oldcastle  Street  just  as  people  were  going  into 
chapel. 

The  lamp-post  remained  bent  for  three  days  —  a 
fearful  warning  to  all  dogs  that  doggishness  has 
limits. 

If  it  had  not  been  a  dogcart,  and  such  a  high,  green 
dogcart;  if  it  had  been,  say,  a  brougham,  or  even  a 


THE  DOG  23 

cab!  If  it  had  not  been  Sunday!  And,  granting 
Sunday,  if  it  had  not  been  just  as  people  were  going 
into  chapel!  If  he  had  not  chosen  that  particular 
lamp-post,  visible  both  from  the  market-place  and 
St.  Luke's  Square!  If  he  had  only  contrived  to 
destroy  a  less  obtrusive  lamp-post  in  some  unfre- 
quented street!  And  if  it  had  not  been  a  Wakes 
girl  —  if  the  reprobate  had  only  selected  for  his 
guilty  amours  an  actress  from  one  of  the  touring 
companies,  or  even  a  star  from  the  Hanbridge  Em- 
pire —  yea,  or  even  a  local  barmaid  I  But  a  Wakes 
girl! 

Ellis  himself  saw  the  enormity  of  his  transgression. 
He  lay  awake  astounded  by  his  own  doggishness. 

And  yet  he  had  seldom  felt  less  doggy  than  during 
that  trip.  It  seemed  to  him  that  doggishness  was  not 
the  glorious  thing  he  had  thought.  However,  he 
cut  a  heroic  figure  at  the  dog's  club.  Every  admir- 
ing face  said :  "  Well,  you  have  been  going  the 
pace!  We  always  knew  you  were  a  hot  un,  but, 
really " 


On  the  following  Friday  evening,  when  Ellis 
jumped  off  the  car  opposite  his  home  on  the  Haw- 
kins, he  saw  in  the  road,  halted,  a  train  of  vast  and 
queer-shaped  waggons  in  charge  of  two  traction-en- 
gines. They  were  painted  on  all  sides  with  the  great 
name  of  Jenkins.  They  contained  Jenkins's  round- 
abouts and  shooting-saloons,  on  their  way  to  rouse 
the  joy  of  life  in  other  towns.  And  he  perceived 


24     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

in  front  of  the  portico  the  high,  green  dogcart  and 
the  lamp-post-destroying  mare. 

He  went  in.  The  family  had  come  home  that 
afternoon.  Sundry  of  his  sisters  greeted  him  with 
silent  horror  on  their  faces  in  the  hall.  In  the  break- 
fast-room, which  gave  off  the  drawing-room,  was  his 
mother  in  the  attitude  of  an  intent  listener.  She 
spoke  no  word. 

And  Ellis  listened,  too. 

"  Yes,"  'a  very  powerful  and  raucous  voice  was 
saying  in  the  drawing-room,  "  I  reckoned  I'd  call 
and  tell  ye  myself,  Mister  Carter,  what  I  thought  on 
it.  My  gell,  a  motherless  gell,  but  brought  up  re- 
spectable; sixth  standard  at  Whalley  Range  Board 
School,  and  her  aunt  a  strict  God-fearing  woman! 
And  here  your  son  comes  along  and  gets  hold  of  the 
girl  while  her  aunt's  at  the  special  service  for  Wakes 
folks  in  Bethesda  Chapel,  and  runs  off  with  her  in  my 
dogcart  with  one  of  my  hosses,  and  raises  a  scandal 
all  o'er  the  Five  Towns.  God  bless  my  soul,  mister  I 
I  tell'n  ye  I  hardly  liked  to  open  o'  Monday  after- 
noon, I  was  that  ashamed  I  And  I  packed  Ada  off 
to  Manchester.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  the  upper 
classes,  as  they  call  'em  —  the  immoral  classes  /  call 
'em  —  'ud  look  after  themselves  a  bit  instead  o'  look- 
ing after  other  people  so  much,  things  might  be  a 
bit  better,  Mister  Carter.  I  dare  say  you  think  it's 
nothing  as  your  son  should  go  about  ruining  the  rep- 
utation of  any  decent,  respectable  girl  as  he  happens 
to  fancy,  Mister  Carter;  but  this  is  what  I  say.  I 
say " 


THE  DOG  25 

Mr.  Carter  was  understood  to  assert,  in  his  most 
pacific  and  pained  public-meeting  voice,  that  he  re- 
gretted, infinitely  regretted 

Mrs.  Carter,  weeping,  ran  out  of  the  breakfast- 
room. 

And  soon  afterwards  the  traction-engines  rumbled 
off,  and  the  high,  green  dogcart  followed  them. 

Ellis  sat  spell-bound. 

He  heard  the  parlourmaid  go  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  announce,  "Tea  is  ready,  sir!  "  and  then 
his  father's  dry  cough. 

And  then  the  parlourmaid  came  into  the  break- 
fast-room: "Tea  is  ready,  Mr.  Ellis  1" 

Oh,  the  meal ! 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH 

IT  was  Monday  afternoon  of  Bursley  Wakes  — • 
not  our  modern  rectified  festival,  but  the  wild 
and  nai've  orgy  of  seventy  years  ago,  the  days 
of  bear-baiting  and  of  bull-baiting,  from  which  latter 
phrase,  they  say,  the  town  derives  its  name.  In  those 
times  there  was  a  town-bull,  a  sort  of  civic  beast;  and 
a  certain  notorious  character  kept  a  bear  in  his 
pantry.  The  "  beating  "  (baiting)  occurred  usually 
on  Sunday  mornings  at  six  o'clock,  with  formidable 
hungry  dogs;  and  little  boys  used  to  look  forward 
eagerly  to  the  day  when  they  would  be  old  enough 
to  be  permitted  to  attend.  On  Sunday  afternoons 
colliers  and  potters,  gathered  round  the  jawbone  of 
a  whale  which  then  stood  as  a  natural  curiosity  on 
the  waste  space  near  the  corn-mill,  would  discuss  the 
fray,  and  make  bets  for  next  Sunday,  while  the  ex- 
hausted dogs  licked  their  wounds,  or  died.  During 
the  Wakes  week  bull  and  bear  were  baited  at  fre- 
quent intervals,  according  to  popular  demand,  for 
thousands  of  sportsmen  from  neighbouring  villages 
seized  the  opportunity  of  the  fair  to  witness  the  fine 
beatings  for  which  Bursley  was  famous  throughout 
the  country  of  the  Five  Towns.  In  that  week  the 
Wakes  took  possession  of  the  town,  which  yielded  it- 
self with  savage  abandonment  to  all  the  frenzies  of 
license.  The  public-houses  remained  continuously 

26 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  27 

open  night  and  day,  and  the  barmen  and  barmaids 
never  went  to  bed;  every  inn  engaged  special  "  tal- 
ent "  in  order  to  attract  custom,  and  for  a  hundred 
hours  the  whole  thronged  town  drank,  drank,  until 
the  supply  of  coin  of  George  IV.,  converging  gradu- 
ally into  the  coffers  of  a  few  persons,  ceased  to  circu- 
late. Towards  the  end  of  the  Wakes,  by  way  of  a 
last  ecstasy,  the  cockfighters  would  carry  their  birds, 
which  had  already  fought  and  been  called  off,  per- 
haps, half  a  dozen  times,  to  the  town-field  (where 
the  discreet  40  per  cent,  brewery  now  stands),  and 
there  match  them  to  a  finish.  It  was  a  spacious  age. 
On  this  Monday  afternoon  in  June  the  less  fervid 
activities  of  the  Wakes  were  proceeding  as  usual  in 
the  market-place,  overshadowed  by  the  Town  Hall 
—  not  the  present  stone  structure  with  its  gold  angel, 
but  a  brick  edifice  built  on  an  ashlar  basement.  Hob- 
by-horses and  revolving  swing-boats,  propelled, 
with  admirable  economy  to  the  proprietors,  by 
privileged  boys  who  took  their  pay  in  an  occasional 
ride,  competed  successfully  with  the  skeleton  man, 
the  fat  or  bearded  woman,  and  Aunt  Sally.  The 
long  toy-tents,  artfully  roofed  with  a  tinted  cloth 
which  permitted  only  a  soft,  mellow  light  to  illumi- 
nate the  wares  displayed,  were  crowded  with  jostling 
youth  and  full  of  the  sound  of  whistles,  "  squark- 
ers,"  and  various  pipes;  and  multitudes  surrounded 
the  gingerbread,  nut,  and  savoury  stalls  which  lined 
both  sides  of  the  roadway  as  far  as  Duck  Bank.  In 
front  of  the  numerous  boxing-booths  experts  of  the 
"  fancy,"  obviously  out  of  condition,  offered  to  fight 


28     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

all  comers,  and  were  not  seldom  well  thrashed  by  im- 
petuous champions  of  local  fame.  There  were  no 
photographic  studios  and  no  cocoanut-shies,  for  these 
things  had  not  been  thought  of;  and  to  us  moderns 
the  fair,  despite  its  uncontrolled  exuberance  of  rev- 
elry, would  have  seemed  strangely  quiet,  since  neither 
steam-organ  nor  hooter  nor  hurdy-gurdy  was  there 
to  overwhelm  the  ear  with  crashing  waves  of  gigantic 
sound.  But  if  the  special  phenomena  of  a  later  day 
were  missing  from  the  carnival,  others,  as  astonish- 
ing to  us  as  the  steam-organ  would  have  been  to  those 
uncouth  roisterers,  were  certainly  present.  Chief, 
perhaps,  among  these  was  the  man  who  retailed  the 
elixir  of  youth,  the  veritable  eau  de  jouvence,  to  cred- 
ulous drinkers  at  sixpence  a  bottle.  This  magician, 
whose  dark  mysterious  face  and  glittering  eyes  indi- 
cated a  strain  of  Romany  blood,  and  whose  accent 
proved  that  he  had  at  any  rate  lived  much  in  York- 
shire, had  a  small  booth  opposite  the  watch-house 
under  the  Town  Hall.  On  a  banner  suspended  in 
front  of  it  was  painted  the  legend: 

THE  INCA  OF  PERU'S 
ELIXER  OF  YOUTH 

SOLD  HERE. 

ETERNAL  YOUTH  FOR  ALL. 

DRINK  THIS  AND  YOU  WILL  NEVER  GROW  OLD 
AS  SUPPLIED  TO  THE  NOBILITY  &  GENTRY 

SIXPENCE  PER  EOT. 

WALK  IN,  WALK  IN,   & 

CONSULT  THE  INCA  OF  PERU. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  29 

The  Inca  of  Peru,  dressed  in  black  velveteens,  with 
a  brilliant  scarf  round  his  neck,  stood  at  the  door  of 
his  tent,  holding  an  empty  glass  in  one  jewelled  hand, 
and  with  the  other  twirling  a  long  and  silken  mous- 
tache. Handsome,  graceful,  and  thoroughly  inured 
to  the  public  gaze,  he  fronted  a  small  circle  of  gapers 
like  an  actor  adroit  to  make  the  best  of  himself,  and 
his  tongue  wagged  fast  enough  to  wag  a  man's  leg 
off.  At  a  casual  glance  he  might  have  been  taken 
for  thirty,  but  his  age  was  fifty  and  more  —  if  you 
could  catch  him  in  the  morning  before  he  had  put 
the  paint  on. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Bursley,  this  enlight- 
ened and  beautiful  town  which  I  am  now  visiting  for 
the  first  time,"  he  began  in  a  hard,  metallic  voice, 
employing  again  with  the  glib  accuracy  of  a  machine 
the  exact  phrases  which  he  had  been  using  all  day, 
"  look  at  me  —  look  well  at  me.  How  old  do  you 
think  I  am?  How  old  do  I  seem?  Twenty,  my 
dear,  do  you  say?  "  and  he  turned  with  practised  in- 
solence to  a  pot-girl  in  a  red  shawl  who  could  not 
have  uttered  an  audible  word  to  save  her  soul,  but 
who  blushed  and  giggled  with  pleasure  at  this  mark 
of  attention.  "  Ah !  you  flatter,  fair  maiden !  I 
look  more  than  twenty,  but  I  think  I  may  say  that 
I  do  not  look  thirty.  Does  any  lady  or  gentleman 
think  I  look  thirty?  No  I  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
was  twenty-nine  years  of  age  when,  in  South  Amer- 
ica, while  exploring  the  ruins  of  the  most  ancient 
civilisation  of  the  world  —  of  the  world,  ladies  and 


30     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

gentlemen  —  I  made  my  wonderful  discovery,   the 
Elixir  of  Youth!" 

"What  art  blethering  at,  Licksy?"  a  drunken 
man  called  from  the  back  of  the  crowd,  and  the  nick- 
name stuck  to  the  great  discoverer  during  the  rest 
of  the  Wakes. 

"  That,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  the  Inca  of  Peru 
continued  unperturbed,  "was  —  seventy-two  years 
ago.  I  am  now  a  hundred  and  one  years  old  pre- 
cisely, and  as  fresh  as  a  kitten,  all  along  of  my  mar- 
vellous elixir.  Far  older,  for  instance,  than  this 
good  dame  here." 

He  pointed  to  an  aged  and  wrinkled  woman,  in 
blue  cotton  and  a  white  mutch,  who  was  placidly 
smoking  a  short  cutty.  This  creature,  bowed  and 
satiate  with  monotonous  years,  took  the  pipe  from 
her  indrawn  lips,  and  asked  in  a  weary,  trembling 
falsetto : 

"  How  many  wives  hast  had?  " 

"  Seventane,"  the  Inca  retorted  quickly,  dropping 
at  once  into  broad  dialect,  "  and  now  lone  and  look- 
in'  to  wed  again.  Wilt  have  me?  " 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  crone.  "  I've  buried  four 
mysen,  and  no  man  o'  mine  shall  bury  me." 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  amid  which  the 
Inca,  taking  the  crowd  archly  into  his  confidence,  re- 
marked : 

"  I've  never  administered  my  elixir  to  any  of  my 
wives,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  You  may  blame  me, 
but  I  freely  confess  the  fact;  "  and  he  winked. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  31 

"  Licksy  1  Licksy !  "  the  drunken  man  idiotically 
chanted. 

"  And  now,"  the  Inca  proceeded,  coming  at  length 
to  the  practical  part  of  his  ovation,  "see  here!" 
With  the  rapidity  of  a  conjurer  he  whipped  from  his 
pocket  a  small  bottle,  and  held  it  up  before  the  in- 
creasing audience.  It  contained  a  reddish  fluid, 
which  shone  bright  and  rich  in  the  sunlight.  "  See 
here !  "  he  cried  magnificently,  but  he  was  destined  to 
interruption. 

A  sudden  cry  arose  of  "  Black  Jack !  Black  Jack  1 
'Tis  him !  He's  caught !  "  And  the  Inca's  crowd, 
together  with  all  the  other  crowds  filling  the  market- 
place, surged  off  eastward  in  a  dense,  struggling 
mass. 

The  cynosure  of  every  eye  was  a  springless  clay- 
cart,  which  was  being  slowly  driven  past  the  newly- 
erected  "  big  house "  of  Enoch  Wood,  Esquire, 
towards  the  Town  Hall.  In  this  cart  were  two  con- 
stables, with  their  painted  staves  drawn,  and  between 
the  constables  sat  a  man  securely  chained  —  Black 
Jack  of  Moorthorne,  the  mining  village  which  lies 
over  the  ridge  a  mile  or  so  east  of  Bursley.  The 
captive  was  a  ferocious  and  splendid  young  Hercules, 
tall,  with  enormous  limbs  and  hands  and  heavy  black 
brows.  He  was  dressed  in  his  soiled  working  attire 
of  a  collier,  the  trousers  strapped  under  the  knees, 
and  his  feet  shod  in  vast  clogs.  With  open  throat, 
small  head,  great  jaws,  and  bold  beady  eyes,  he 
look  what  he  was,  the  superb  brute  —  the  brute 


32     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

reckless  of  all  save  the  instant  satisfaction  of  his  de- 
sires. He  came  of  a  family  of  colliers,  the  most  de- 
based class  in  a  lawless  district.  Jack's  father  had 
been  a  colliery-serf,  legally  enslaved  to  his  colliery, 
legally  liable  to  be  sold  with  the  colliery  as  a  chattel, 
and  legally  bound  to  bring  up  all  his  sons  as  colliers, 
until  the  Act  of  George  III.  put  an  end  to  this  in- 
credible survival  from  the  customs  of  the  Dark  Ages. 
Black  Jack  was  now  a  hero  to  the  crowd,  and  knew 
it,  for  those  vast  clogs  had  kicked  a  woman  to  death 
on  the  previous  day.  She  was  a  Moorthorne 
woman,  not  his  wife,  but  his  sweetheart,  older  than 
he;  people  said  that  she  nagged  him,  and  that  he 
was  tired  of  her.  The  murderer  had  hidden  for  a 
night,  and  then,  defiantly,  surrendered  to  the  watch, 
and  the  watch  were  taking  him  to  the  watch-house 
in  the  ashlar  basement  of  the  Town  Hall.  The 
feeble  horse  between  the  shafts  of  the  cart  moved 
with  difficulty  through  the  press,  and  often  the  col- 
oured staves  of  the  constables  came  down  thwack  on 
the  heads  of  heedless  youth.  At  length  the  cart 
reached  the  space  between  the  watch-house  and  the 
tent  of  the  Inca  of  Peru,  where  it  stopped  while  the 
constables  unlocked  a  massive  door;  the  prisoner  re- 
mained proudly  in  the  cart,  accepting,  with  obvious 
delight,  the  tribute  of  cheers  and  jeers,  hoots  and 
shouts,  from  five  thousand  mouths. 

The  Inca  of  Peru  stood  at  the  door  of  his  tent 
and  surveyed  Black  Jack,  who  was  not  more  than  a 
few  feet  away  from  him. 

"  Have  a  glass  of  my  elixir,"  he  said  to  the  death- 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  33 

dealer;  "no  one  in  this  town  needs  it  more  than 
thee,  by  all  accounts.  Have  a  glass,  and  live  for 
ever.  Only  sixpence." 

The  man  in  the  cart  laughed  aloud. 

"  I've  nowt  on  me  —  not  a  farden,"  he  answered, 
in  a  strong  grating  voice. 

At  that  moment  a  girl,  half  hidden  by  the  cart, 
sprang  forward,  offering  something  in  her  out- 
stretched palm  to  the  Inca ;  but  he,  misunderstanding 
her  intention,  merely  glanced  with  passing  interest  at 
her  face,  and  returned  his  gaze  to  the  prisoner. 

"  I'll  give  thee  a  glass,  lad,"  he  said  quickly,  "  and 
then  thou  canst  defy  Jack  Ketch." 

The  crowd  yelled  with  excitement,  and  the  mur- 
derer held  forth  his  great  hand  for  the  potion. 
Using  every  art  to  enhance  the  effect  of  this  dramatic 
advertisement,  the  Inca  of  Peru  raised  his  bottle  on 
high,  and  said  in  a  loud,  impressive  tone : 

'  This  precious  liquid  has  the  property,  possessed 
by  no  other  liquid  on  earth,  of  frothing  twice.  I 
shall  pour  it  into  the  glass,  and  it  will  froth.  Black 
Jack  will  drink  it,  and  after  he  has  drunk  it  will 
froth  again.  Observe !  " 

He  uncorked  the  bottle  and  filled  the  glass  with 
the  reddish  fluid,  which  after  a  few  seconds  duly  ef- 
fervesced, to  the  vague  wonder  of  the  populace. 
The  Inca  held  the  glass  till  the  froth  had  subsided, 
and  then  solemnly  gave  it  to  Black  Jack. 

"  Drink !  "  commanded  the  Inca. 

Black  Jack  took  the  draught  at  a  gulp,  and  in- 
stantly flung  the  glass  at  the  Inca's  face.  It  missed 


34     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

him,  however.  There  were  signs  of  a  fracas,  but 
the  door  of  the  watch-house  swung  opportunely  open, 
and  Jack  was  dragged  from  the  cart  and  hustled 
within.  The  crowd,  with  a  crowd's  fickleness,  turned 
to  other  affairs. 

That  evening  the  ingenious  Inca  of  Peru  did  good 
trade  for  several  hours,  but  towards  eleven  o'clock 
the  attraction  of  the  public-houses  and  of  a  grand 
special  combined  bull  and  bear  beating  by  moonlight 
in  the  large  yard  of  the  Cock  Inn  drew  away  the 
circle  of  his  customers  until  there  was  none  left. 
He  retired  inside  the  tent  with  several  pounds  in 
his  pocket  and  a  god's  consciousness  of  having 
made  immortal  many  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
Adam. 

As  he  was  counting  out  his  gains  on  the  tub  of 
eternal  youth  by  the  flicker  of  a  dip,  someone  lifted 
the  flap  of  the  booth  and  stealthily  entered.  He 
sprang  up,  fearing  robbery  with  violence,  which  was 
sufficiently  common  during  the  Wakes;  but  it  was 
only  the  young  girl  who  had  stood  behind  the  cart 
when  he  offered  to  Black  Jack  his  priceless  boon. 
The  Inca  had  noticed  her  with  increasing  interest 
several  times  during  the  evening  as  she  loitered  rest- 
less near  the  door  of  the  watch-house. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  her,  with  the 
ingratiating  affability  of  the  rake  who  foresees  every- 
thing. 

"  Give  me  a  drink." 

"  A  drink  of  what,  my  dear?  " 

"  Licksy." 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  35 

He  raised  the  dip,  and  by  its  light  examined  her 
face.  It  was  a  kind  of  face  which  carries  no  provo- 
cative signal  for  nine  men  out  of  ten,  but  which  will 
haunt  the  tenth:  a  child's  face  with  a  passionate 
woman's  eyes  burning  and  dying  in  it  —  black  hair, 
black  eyes,  thin  pale  cheeks,  equine  nostrils,  red  lips, 
small  ears,  and  the  smallest  chin  conceivable.  He 
smiled  at  her,  pleased. 

"  Can  you  pay  for  it?  "  he  said  pleasantly. 

The  girl  evidently  belonged  to  the  poorest  class. 
Her  shaggy,  uncovered  head,  lean  frame,  torn  gown, 
and  bare  feet,  all  spoke  of  hardship  and  neglect. 

"  I've  a  silver  groat,"  she  answered,  and  closed 
her  small  fist  tighter. 

"  A  silver  groat !  "  he  exclaimed,  rather  aston- 
ished. "Where  did  you  get  that  from?" 

"  He  give  it  me  for  a-fairing  yesterday." 

"Who?" 

"  Him  yonder  " —  she  jerked  her  head  back  to  in- 
dicate the  watch-house  — "  Black  Jack." 

"What  for?" 

"  He  kissed  me,"  she  said  boldly;  "  I'm  his  sweet- 
heart." 

"  Eh !  "  The  Inca  paused  a  moment,  startled. 
"  But  he  killed  his  sweetheart  yesterday." 

"  What !  Meg !  "  the  girl  exclaimed  with  deep 
scorn.  "  Her  weren't  his  true  sweetheart.  Her 
druv  him  to  it.  Serve  her  well  right!  Owd 
Meg!" 

"  How  old  are  you,  my  dear?  " 

"  Don't  know.     But  feyther  said  last  Wakes  I 


36     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

was  fourtane.  I  mun  keep  young  for  Jack.  He 
wunna  have  me  if  I'm  owd." 

"  But  he'll  be  hanged,  they  say." 

She  gave  a  short,  satisfied  laugh. 

"  Not  now  he's  drunk  Licksy  —  hangman  won't 
get  him.  I  heard  a  man  say  Jack'd  get  off  wi' 
twenty  year  for  manslaughter,  most  like." 

"  And  you'll  wait  twenty  years  for  him?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  I'll  meet  him  at  prison  gates. 
But  I  mun  be  young.  Give  me  a  drink  o'  Licksy." 

He  drew  the  red  draught  in  silence,  and  after  it 
had  effervesced  offered  it  to  her. 

"  'Tis  raight?"  she  questioned,  taking  the  glass. 

The  Inca  nodded,  and,  lifting  the  vessel,  she 
opened  her  eager  lips  and  became  immortal.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  her  life  that  she  had  drunk  out  of 
a  glass,  and  it  would  be  the  last. 

Struck  dumb  by  the  trusting  joy  in  those  profound 
eyes,  the  Inca  took  the  empty  glass  from  her  trem- 
bling hand.  Frail  organism  and  prey  of  lovel 
Passion  had  surprised  her  too  young.  Noon  had 
come  before  the  flower  could  open.  She  went  out  of 
the  tent. 

"Wench!",  the  Inca  called  after  her,  "thy 
groat!  " 

She  paid  him  and  stood  aimless  for  a  second,  and 
then  started  to  cross  the  roadway.  Simultaneously 
there  was  a  rush  and  a  roar  from  the  Cock  yard  close 
by.  The  raging  bull,  dragging  its  ropes,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  crowd  of  alarmed  pursuers,  dashed  out. 
The  girl  was  plain  in  the  moonlight.  Many  others 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  YOUTH  37 

were  abroad,  but  the  bull  seemed  to  see  nothing  but 
her,  and,  lowering  his  huge  head,  he  charged  with 
shut  eyes  and  flung  her  over  the  Inca's  booth. 

"  Thou's  gotten  thy  wish:  thou'rt  young  for 
ever !  "  the  Inca  of  Peru,  made  a  poet  for  an  instant 
by  this  disaster,  murmured  to  himself  as  he  bent  with 
the  curious  crowd  over  the  corpse. 

Black  Jack  was  hanged. 

Many  years  after  all  this  Bursley  built  itself  a 
new  Town  Hall  (with  a  spire,  and  a  gold  angel  on 
the  top  in  the  act  of  crowning  the  bailiwick  with  a 
gold  crown),  and  began  to  think  about  getting  up  in 
the  world. 


BABY'S  BATH 


MRS.  BLACKSHAW  had  a  baby.  It  would 
be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  baby  in- 
terested the  entire  town,  Bursley  being  an 
ancient,  blase  sort  of  borough  of  some  thirty  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  Babies,  in  fact,  arrived  in  Bursley 
at  the  rate  of  more  than  a  thousand  every  year. 
Nevertheless,  a  few  weeks  after  the  advent  of  Mrs. 
Blackshaw's  baby,  when  the  medical  officer  of  health 
reported  to  the  Town  Council  that  the  births  for  the 
month  amounted  to  ninety-five,  and  that  the  birth- 
rate of  Bursley  compared  favourably  with  the 
birth-rates  of  the  sister  towns,  Hanbridge,  Knype, 
Longshaw,  and  Turnhill  —  when  the  medical  officer 
read  these  memorable  words  at  the  monthly  meeting 
of  the  Council,  and  the  Staffordshire  Signal  reported 
them,  and  Mrs.  Blackshaw  perused  them,  a  blush  of 
pride  spread  over  Mrs.  Blackshaw's  face,  and  she 
picked  up  the  baby's  left  foot  and  gave  it  a  little  peck 
of  a  kiss.  She  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  real 
solid  foundation  of  that  formidable  and  magnificent 
output  of  babies  was  her  baby.  She  could  not  help 
feeling  that  she  had  done  something  for  the  town  — 
had  caught  the  public  eye. 

38 


BABY'S  BATH  39 

As  for  the  baby,  except  that  it  was  decidedly  su- 
perior to  the  average  infant  in  external  appearance 
and  pleasantness  of  disposition,  it  was,  in  all  essential 
characteristics,  a  typical  baby  —  that  is  to  say,  it  was 
purely  sensuous  and  it  lived  the  life  of  the  senses. 
It  was  utterly  selfish.  It  never  thought  of  any  one 
but  itself.  It  honestly  imagined  itself  to  be  the 
centre  of  the  created  universe.  It  was  convinced 
that  the  rest  of  the  universe  had  been  brought  into 
existence  solely  for  the  convenience  and  pleasure  of 
it  —  the  baby.  When  it  wanted  anything,  it  made 
no  secret  of  the  fact,  and  it  was  always  utterly  un- 
scrupulous in  trying  to  get  what  it  wanted.  If  it 
could  have  obtained  the  moon,  it  would  have  upset 
all  the  astronomers  of  Europe  and  made  Whitaket's 
Almanack  unsalable  without  a  pang.  It  had  no  god 
but  its  stomach.  It  never  bothered  its  head  about 
higher  things.  It  was  a  bully  and  a  coward,  and  it 
treated  women  as  beings  of  a  lower  order  than  men. 
In  a  word,  it  was  that  ideal  creature,  sung  of  the 
poets,  from  which  we  gradually  sink  and  fall  away 
as  we  grow  older. 

At  the  age  of  six  months  it  had  quite  a  lot  of  hair, 
and  a  charming  rosy  expanse  at  the  back  of  its  neck, 
caused  through  lying  on  its  back  in  contemplation  of 
its  own  importance.  It  didn't  know  the  date  of  the 
Battle  of  Hastings,  but  it  knew  with  the  certainty  of 
absolute  knowledge  that  it  was  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  that  the  activity  of  the  house  revolved 
round  it. 

Now,  the  baby  loved  its  bath.     In  any  case  its  bath 


40    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

would  have  been  an  affair  of  immense  and  intricate 
pomp;  but  the  fact  that  it  loved  its  bath  raised  the 
interest  and  significance  of  the  bath  to  the  wth  power. 
The  bath  took  place  at  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  idea  of  the  bath 
was  immanent  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  house. 
When  you  have  an  appointment  with  the  dentist  at 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  idea  of  the  ap- 
pointment is  immanent  in  your  mind  from  the  first 
moment  of  your  awakening.  Conceive  that  an  ap- 
pointment with  the  dentist  implies  heavenly  joy  in- 
stead of  infernal  pain,  and  you  will  have  a  notion 
of  the  daily  state  of  Mrs.  Blackshaw  and  Emmie 
(the  nurse)  with  regard  to  the  baby's  bath. 

Even  at  ten  in  the  morning  Emmie  would  be  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  the  kitchen  fire,  lest  the  cook  might  let 
it  out.  And  shortly  after  noon  Mrs.  Blackshaw 
would  be  keeping  an  eye  on  the  thermometer  in 
the  bedroom  where  the  bath  occurred.  From 
four  o'clock  onwards  the  clocks  in  the  house  were 
spied  on  and  overlooked  like  suspected  persons;  but 
they  were  used  to  that,  because  the  baby  had  his 
sterilised  milk  every  two  hours.  I  have  at  length 
allowed  you  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  his  sex. 

And  so  at  five  o'clock  precisely  the  august  and 
exciting  ceremony  began  in  the  best  bedroom.  A 
bright  fire  was  burning  (the  month  being  December) , 
and  the  carefully-shaded  electric  lights  were  also 
burning.  A  large  bath-towel  was  spread  in  a  con- 
venient place  on  the  floor,  and  on  the  towel  were  two 
chairs  facing  each  other,  and  a  table.  On  one  chair 


BABY'S  BATH  41 

was  the  bath,  and  on  the  other  was  Mrs.  Blackshaw 
with  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  on  Mrs.  Blackshaw 
was  another  towel,  and  on  that  towel  was  Roger  (the 
baby).  On  the  table  were  zinc  ointment,  vaseline, 
scentless  eau  de  Cologne,  Castile  soap,  and  a  powder- 
puff. 

Emmie  having  pretty  nearly  filled  the  bath  with  a 
combination  of  hot  and  cold  waters,  dropped  the 
floating  thermometer  into  it,  and  then  added  more 
waters  until  the  thermometer  indicated  the  precise 
temperature  proper  for  a  baby's  bath.  But  you  are 
not  to  imagine  that  Mrs.  Blackshaw  trusted  a  mere 
thermometer.  No.  She  put  her  arm  in  the  water 
up  to  the  elbow.  She  reckoned  the  sensitive  skin 
near  the  elbow  was  worth  forty  thermometers. 

Emmie  was  chiefly  an  audience.  Mrs.  Blackshaw 
had  engaged  her  as  nurse,  but  she  could  have  taught 
a  nigger-boy  to  do  all  that  she  allowed  the  nurse  to 
do.  During  the  bath  Mrs.  Blackshaw  and  Emmie 
hated  and  scorned  each  other,  despite  their  joy. 
Emmie  was  twice  Mrs.  Blackshaw's  age,  besides 
being  twice  her  weight,  and  she  knew  twice  as  much 
about  babies  as  Mrs.  Blackshaw  did.  However, 
Mrs.  Blackshaw  had  the  terrific  advantage  of  being 
the  mother  of  that  particular  infant,  and  she  could 
always  end  an  argument  when  she  chose,  and  in 
her  own  favour.  It  was  unjust,  and  Emmie  felt  it  to 
be  unjust;  but  this  is  not  a  world  of  justice. 

Roger,  though  not  at  all  precocious,  was  perfectly 
aware  of  the  carefully-concealed  hostility  between  his 
mother  and  his  nurse,  and  often,  with  his  usual 


42     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

unscrupulousness,  he  used  it  for  his  own  ends.  He 
was  sitting  upon  his  mother's  knees  toying  with  the 
edge  of  the  bath,  already  tasting  its  delights  in  ad- 
vance. Mrs.  Blackshaw  undressed  the  upper  half 
of  him,  and  then  she  laid  him  on  the  flat  of  his  back 
and  undressed  the  lower  half  of  him,  but  keeping 
some  wisp  of  a  garment  round  his  equatorial  regions. 
And  then  she  washed  his  face  with  a  sponge  and  the 
Castile  soap,  very  gently,  but  not  half  gently  enough 
for  Emmie,  nor  half  gently  enough  for  Roger,  for 
Roger  looked  upon  this  part  of  the  business  as  in- 
sulting and  superfluous.  He  breathed  hard  and 
kicked  his  feet  nearly  off. 

"  Yes,  it's  dreadful  having  our  face  washed,  isn't 
it?  "  said  Mrs.  Blackshaw,  with  her  sleeves  up,  and 
her  hair  by  this  time  down.  "  We  don't  like  it,  do 
we?  Yes,  yes." 

Emmie  grunted,  without  a  sound,  and  yet  Mrs. 
Blackshaw  heard  her,  and  finished  that  face  quickly 
and  turned  to  the  hands. 

"  Potato-gardens  every  day,"  she  said.  "  Evzy 
day-day.  Enough  of  that,  Colonel!  "  (For,  after 
all,  she  had  plenty  of  spirit.)  "  Fat  little  creases! 
Fat  little  creases !  There !  He  likes  that !  There ! 
Feet!  Feet!  Feet  and  legs!  Then  our  back! 
And  then  whup  we  shall  go  into  the  bath !  That's  it. 
Kick !  Kick  your  mother !  " 

And  she  turned  him  over. 

"  Incredible  bungler!  "  said  the  eyes  of  the  nurse. 
"  Can't  she  turn  him  over  neater  than  that !  " 

"  Harridan !  "  said  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Blackshaw. 


BABY'S  BATH  43 

"  I  wouldn't  let  you  bath  him  for  twenty  thousand 
pounds !  " 

Roger  continued  to  breathe  hard,  as  if  his  mother 
were  a  horse  and  he  were  rubbing  her  down. 

"  Now !  Zoop !  Whup !  "  cried  his  mother,  and 
having  deprived  him  of  his  final  rag,  she  picked  him 
up  and  sat  him  in  the  bath,  and  he  was  divinely 
happy,  and  so  were  the  women.  He  appeared  a 
gross  little  animal  in  the  bath,  all  the  tints  of  his 
flesh  shimmering  under  the  electric  light.  His  chest 
was  superb,  but  the  rolled  and  creased  bigness  of  his 
inordinate  stomach  was  simply  appalling,  not  to 
mention  his  great  thighs  and  calves.  The  truth  was, 
he  had  grown  so  that  if  he  had  been  only  a  little  bit 
bigger,  he  would  have  burst  the  bath.  He  resem- 
bled an  old  man  who  had  been  steadily  eating  too 
much  for  about  forty  years. 

His  two  womenfolk  now  candidly  and  openly 
worshipped  him,  forgetting  sectarian  differences. 

And  he  splashed.  Oh !  he  splashed.  You  see,  he 
had  learnt  how  to  splash,  and  he  had  certainly  got  an 
inkling  that  to  splash  was  wicked  and  messy.  So  he 
splashed  —  in  his  mother's  face,  in  Emmie's  face,  in 
the  fire.  He  pretty  well  splashed  the  fire  out.  Ten 
minutes  before,  the  bedroom  had  been  tidy,  a  thing  of 
beauty.  It  was  now  naught  but  a  wild  welter  of 
towels,  socks,  binders  —  peninsulas  of  clothes  nearly 
surrounded  by  water. 

Finally  his  mother  seized  him  again,  and,  rearing 
his  little  legs  up  out  of  the  water,  immersed  the  whole 
of  his  inflated  torso  beneath  the  surface. 


44    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Hallo!"  she  exclaimed.  "Did  the  water  run 
over  his  mouf  ?  Did  it?  " 

"  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us !  How 
clumsy  she  is !  "  commented  the  eyes  of  Emmie. 

"  There !  I  fink  that's  about  long  enough  for  this 
kind  of  wewer,"  said  the  mother. 

"  I  should  think  it  was !  There's  almost  a  crust  of 
ice  on  the  water  now !  "  the  nurse  refrained  from 
saying. 

And  Roger,  full  of  regrets,  was  wrenched  out  of 
the  bath.  He  had  ceased  breathing  hard  while  in 
the  water,  but  he  began  again  immediately  he 
emerged. 

"  We  don't  like  our  face  wiped,  do  we  ?  "  said  his 
mother  on  his  behalf.  "  We  want  to  go  back  into 
that  bath.  We  like  it.  It's  more  fun  than  anything 
that  happens  all  day  long!  Eh!  That  old  dan- 
druff's coming  up  in  fine  style.  It's  a-peeling  off 
like  anything." 

And  all  the  while  she  wiped  him,  patted  eau  de 
Cologne  into  him  with  the  flat  of  her  hand,  and 
rubbed  zinc  ointment  into  him,  and  massaged  him, 
and  powdered  him,  and  turned  him  over  and  over 
and  over,  till  he  was  thoroughly  well  basted  and 
cooked.  And  he  kept  on  breathing  hard. 

Then  he  sneezed,  amid  general  horror! 

"  I  told  you  so !  "  the  nurse  didn't  say,  and  she 
rushed  to  the  bed  where  all  the  idol's  beautiful,  clean, 
aired  things  were  lying  safe  from  splashings,  and 
handed  a  flannel  shirt,  about  two  inches  in  length, 
to  Mrs.  Blackshaw.  And  Mrs.  Blackshaw  rolled 


BABY'S  BATH  45, 

the  left  sleeve  of  it  into  a  wad  and  stuck  it  over  his 
arm,  and  his  poor  little  vaccination  marks  were 
hidden  from  view  till  next  morning.  Roger  pro- 
tested. 

"  We  don't  like  clothes,  do  we?  "  said  his  mother. 
"  We  want  to  tumble  back  into  our  tub.  We  aren't 
much  for  clothes  anyway.  We'se  a  little  Hottentot, 
aren't  we?  " 

And  she  gradually  covered  him  with  one  garment 
or  another  until  there  was  nothing  left  of  him  but  his 
head  and  his  hands  and  feet.  And  she  sat  him  up  on 
her  knees,  so  as  to  fasten  his  things  behind.  And 
then  it  might  have  been  observed  that  he  was  no 
longer  breathing  hard,  but  giving  vent  to  a  sound 
between  a  laugh  and  a  cry,  while  sucking  his  thumb 
and  gazing  round  the  room. 

"  That's  our  little  affected  cry  that  we  start  for  our 
milk,  isn't  it?  "  his  mother  explained  to  him. 

And  he  agreed  that  it  was. 

And  before  Emmie  could  fly  across  the  room  for 
the  bottle,  all  ready  and  waiting,  his  mouth,  in  the 
shape  of  a  perfect  rectangle,  had  monopolised  five- 
sixths  of  his  face,  and  he  was  scarlet  and  bellowing 
with  impatience. 

He  took  the  bottle  like  a  tiger  his  prey,  and  seized 
his  mother's  hand  that  held  the  bottle,  and  he  furi- 
ously pumped  the  milk  into  that  insatiable  gulf  of  a 
stomach.  But  he  found  time  to  gaze  about  the 
room  too.  A  tear  stood  in  each  roving  eye,  caused 
by  the  effort  of  feeding. 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  said  his  mother.     "  Now  look 


46     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

round  and  see  what's  happening,  Curiosity!  Well, 
if  you  will  bob  your  head,  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Of  course  you  can!  "  the  nurse  didn't  say. 

Then  he  put  his  finger  into  his  mouth  side  by  side 
with  the  bottle,  and  gagged  himself,  and  choked,  and 
gave  a  terrible  —  excuse  the  word  —  hiccough. 
After  which  he  seemed  to  lose  interest  in  the  milk, 
and  the  pumping  operations  slackened  and  then 
ceased. 

"  Goosey  I  "  whispered  his  mother,  "  getting  seepy  ? 
Is  the  sandman  throwing  sand  in  our  eyes?  Old 
Sandman  at  it?  Sh "  .  .  .  He  had  gone. 

Emmie  took  him.  The  women  spoke  in  whispers. 
And  Mrs.  Blackshaw,  after  a  day  spent  in  being  a 
mother,  reconstituted  herself  a  wife,  and  began  to 
beautify  herself  for  her  husband. 

II 

Yes,  there  was  a  Mr.  Blackshaw,  and  with  Mr. 
Blackshaw  the  tragedy  of  the  bath  commences.  Mr. 
Blackshaw  was  a  very  important  young  man.  In- 
deed, it  is  within  the  mark  to  say  that,  next  to  his 
son,  he  was  the  most  important  young  man  in  Burs- 
ley.  For  Mr.  Blackshaw  was  the  manager  of  the 
newly-opened  Municipal  Electricity  Works.  And 
the  Municipal  Electricity  had  created  more  excite- 
ment and  interest  than  anything  since  the  1887  Jubi- 
lee, when  an  ox  was  roasted  whole  in  the  market- 
place and  turned  bad  in  the  process.  Had  Bursley 
been  a  Swiss  village,  or  a  French  country  town,  or  a 
hamlet  in  Arizona,  it  would  have  had  its  electricity 


BABY'S  BATH  47 

fifteen  years  ago,  but  being  only  a  progressive  English 
borough,  with  an  annual  value  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds,  it  struggled  on  with  gas  till  well 
into  the  twentieth  century.  Its  great  neighbour  Han- 
bridge  had  become  acquainted  with  electricity  in  the 
nineteenth  century. 

All  the  principal  streets  and  squares,  and  every 
decent  shop  that  Hanbridge  competition  had  left 
standing,  and  many  private  houses,  now  lighted  them- 
selves by  electricity,  and  the  result  was  splendid  and 
glaring  and  coldly  yellow.  Mr.  Blackshaw  devel- 
oped into  the  hero  of  the  hour.  People  looked  at 
him  in  the  street  as  though  he  had  been  the  discov- 
erer and  original  maker  of  electricity.  And  if  the 
manager  of  the  gasworks  had  not  already  committed 
murder,  it  was  because  the  manager  of  the  gasworks 
had  a  right  sense  of  what  was  due  to  his  position  as 
vicar's  churchwarden  at  St.  Peter's  Church. 

But  greatness  has  its  penalties.  And  the  chief 
penalty  of  Mr.  Blackshaw's  greatness  was  that  he 
could  not  see  Roger  have  his  nightly  bath.  It  was 
impossible  for  Mr.  Blackshaw  to  quit  his  arduous 
and  responsible  post  before  seven  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing. Later  on,  when  things  were  going  more 
smoothly,  he  might  be  able  to  get  away;  but  then, 
later  on,  his  son's  bath  would  not  be  so  amusing  and 
agreeable  as  it  then,  by  all  reports,  was.  The  baby 
was,  of  course,  bathed  on  Sunday  nights,  but  Sunday 
afternoon  and  evening  Mr.  Blackshaw  was  obliged 
to  spend  with  his  invalid  mother  at  Longshaw.  It 
was  on  the  sole  condition  of  his  weekly  presence  thus 


48     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

in  her  house  that  she  had  consented  not  to  live  with 
the  married  pair.  And  so  Mr.  Blackshaw  could  not 
witness  Roger's  bath.  He  adored  Roger.  He  un- 
derstood Roger.  He  weighed,  nursed,  and  fed 
Roger.  He  was  u  up  "  in  all  the  newest  theories  of 
infant  rearing.  In  short,  Roger  was  his  passion, 
and  he  knew  everything  of  Roger  except  Roger's 
bath.  And  when  his  wife  met  him  at  the  front  door 
of  a  night  at  seven-thirty  and  launched  instantly  into 
a  description  of  the  wonders,  delights,  and  excita- 
tions of  Roger's  latest  bath,  Mr.  Blackshaw  was 
ready  to  tear  his  hair  with  disappointment  and  frus- 
tration. 

"  I  suppose  you  couldn't  put  it  off  for  a  couple  of 
hours  one  night,  May?"  he  suggested  at  supper  on 
the  evening  of  the  particular  bath  described  above. 

"  Sidney  1  "  protested  Mrs.  Blackshaw,  pained. 

Mr.  Blackshaw  felt  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and 
there  was  a  silence. 

"  Well!  "  said  Mr.  Blackshaw  at  length,  "  I  have 
just  made  up  my  mind.  I'm  going  to  see  that  kid's 
bath,  and,  what's  more,  I'm  going  to  see  it  to-mor- 
row. I  don't  care  what  happens." 

"  But  how  shall  you  manage  to  get  away,  dar- 
ling?" 

"  You  will  telephone  me  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  you're  ready  to  begin,  and  I'll  pretend 
it's  something  very  urgent,  and  scoot  off." 

"Well,  that  will  be  lovely,  darling!  "  said  Mrs. 
Blackshaw.  "  I  would  like  you  to  see  him  in  the 
bath,  just  once !  He  looks  so " 


BABY'S  BATH  49 

And  so  on. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Blackshaw,  that  fearsome  auto- 
crat of  the  Municipal  Electricity  Works,  was  saying 
to  himself  all  day  that  at  five  o'clock  he  was  going 
to  assist  at  the  spectacle  of  his  wonderful  son's  bath. 
The  prospect  inspired  him.  So  much  so  that  every 
hand  on  the  place  was  doing  its  utmost  in  fear  and 
trembling,  and  the  whole  affair  was  running  with  the 
precision  and  smoothness  of  a  watch. 

From  four  o'clock  onwards,  Mr.  Blackshaw,  in 
the  solemn,  illuminated  privacy  of  the  managerial 
office,  safe  behind  glass  partitions,  could  no  more 
contain  his  excitement.  He  hovered  in  front  of  the 
telephone,  waiting  for  it  to  ring.  Then,  at  a  quar- 
ter to  five,  just  when  he  felt  he  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,  and  was  about  to  ring  up  his  wife  instead  of 
waiting  for  her  to  ring  him  up,  he  saw  a  burly 
shadow  behind  the  glass  door,  and  gave  a  desolate 
sigh.  That  shadow  could  only  be  thrown  by  one 
person,  and  that  person  was  his  Worship  the  Mayor 
of  Bursley.  His  Worship  entered  the  private  office 
with  mayoral  assurance,  pulling  in  his  wake  a  stout 
old  lady  whom  he  introduced  as  his  aunt  from  Wol- 
verhampton.  And  he  calmly  proposed  that  Mr. 
Blackshaw  should  show  the  mayoral  aunt  over  the 
new  Electricity  Works! 

Mr.  Blackshaw  was  sick  of  showing  people  over 
the  Works.  Moreover,  he  naturally  despised  the 
Mayor.  All  permanent  officials  of  municipalities 
thoroughly  despise  their  mayors  (up  their  sleeves). 
A  mayor  is  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,  whereas 


50     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

a  permanent  official  is  permanent.  A  mayor  knows 
nothing  about  anything  except  his  chain  and  the  rules 
of  debate,  and  he  is,  further,  a  tedious  and  meddle- 
some person  —  in  the  opinion  of  permanent  officials. 

So  Mr.  Blackshaw's  fury  at  the  inept  appearance 
of  the  Mayor  and  the  mayoral  aunt  at  this  critical 
juncture  may  be  imagined.  The  worst  of  it  was,  he 
didn't  know  how  to  refuse  the  Mayor. 

Then  the  telephone-bell  rang. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Blackshaw,  with  admira- 
bly simulated  politeness,  going  to  the  instrument. 
"Are  you  there?  Who  is  it?" 

"  It's  me,  darling,"  came  the  thin  voice  of  his  wife 
far  away  at  Bleakridge.  "  The  water's  just  getting 
hot.  We're  nearly  ready.  Can  you  come  now?" 

"By  Jove!  Wait  a  moment!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Blackshaw,  and  then  turning  to  his  visitors,  "  Did 
you  hear  that?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Mayor. 

"  All  those  three  new  dynamos  that  they've  got  at 
the  Hanbridge  Electricity  Works  have  just  broken 
down.  I  knew  they  would.  I  told  them  they 
would!" 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  the  Mayor  of  Bursley,  se- 
cretly delighted  by  this  disaster  to  a  disdainful  rival. 
"  Why !  They'll  have  the  town  in  darkness.  What 
are  they  going  to  do?  " 

"  They  want  me  to  go  over  at  once.  But,  of 
course,  I  can't.  At  least,  I  must  give  myself  the 
pleasure  of  showing  you  and  this  lady  over  our 
Works,  first." 


BABY'S  BATH  51 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Mr.  Blackshaw !  "  said  the 
Mayor.  "  Go  at  once.  Go  at  once.  If  Bursley 
can  be  of  any  assistance  to  Hanbridge  in  such  a  crisis, 
I  shall  be  only  too  pleased.  We  will  come  to-mor- 
row, won't  we,  auntie?  " 

Mr.  Blackshaw  addressed  the  telephone. 

"  The  Mayor  is  here,  with  a  lady,  and  I  was  just 
about  to  show  them  over  the  Works,  but  his  Worship 
insists  that  I  come  at  once." 

"  Certainly,"  the  Mayor  put  in  pompously. 

"  Wonders  will  never  cease,"  came  the  thin  voice 
of  Mrs.  Blackshaw  through  the  telephone.  "  It's 
very  nice  of  the  old  thing!  What's  his  lady  friend 
like!" 

"  Not  like  anything.  Unique !  "  replied  Mr. 
Blackshaw. 

"  Young?  "  came  the  voice. 

"  Dates  from  the  thirties,"  said  Mr.  Blackshaw. 
"  I'm  coming."  And  he  rang  off. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  any  electric  machinery 
as  old  as  that,"  said  the  mayoral  aunt. 

"  We'll  just  look  about  us  a  bit,"  the  Mayor 
remarked.  "  Don't  lose  a  moment,  Mr.  Black- 
shaw." 

And  Mr.  Blackshaw  hurried  off,  wondering 
vaguely  how  he  should  explain  the  lie  when  it  was 
found  out,  but  not  caring  much.  After  all,  he  could 
easily  ascribe  the  episode  to  the  trick  of  some  practical 
joker. 


52     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

in 

He  arrived  at  his  commodious  and  electrically  lit 
residence  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  and  full  to  over- 
flowing with  innocent  paternal  glee.  Was  he  not 
about  to  see  Roger's  tub?  Roger  was  just  ready 
to  be  carried  up-stairs  as  Mr.  Blackshaw's  latchkey 
turned  in  the  door. 

"  Wait  a  sec !  "  cried  Mr.  Blackshaw  to  his  wife, 
who  had  the  child  in  her  arms,  "  I'll  carry  him  up." 

And  he  threw  away  his  hat,  stick,  and  overcoat 
and  grabbed  ecstatically  at  the  infant.  And  he  had 
got  perhaps  half-way  up  the  stairs,  when  lo!  the 
electric  light  went  out.  Every  electric  light  in  the 
house  went  out. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  breathed  Mr.  Blackshaw,  aghast. 

He  pulled  aside  the  blind  of  the  window  at  the 
turn  of  the  stairs,  and  peered  forth.  The  street  was 
as  black  as  your  hat,  or  nearly  so. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  repeated.  "May,  get  can- 
dles." 

Something  had  evidently  gone  wrong  at  the 
Works.  Just  his  luck !  He  had  quitted  the  Works 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  the  current  had  failed ! 

Of  course,  the  entire  house  was  instantly  in  an 
uproar,  turned  upside  down,  startled  out  of  its  life. 
But  a  few  candles  soon  calmed  its  transports.  And 
at  length  Mr.  Blackshaw  gained  the  bedroom  in 
safety,  with  the  offspring  of  his  desires  comfortable 
in  a  shawl. 

"  Give  him  to  me,"  said  May  shortly.     "  I  sup- 


BABY'S  BATH  53 

pose  you'll  have  to  go  back  to  the  Works  at 
once?  " 

Mr.  Blackshaw  paused,  and  then  nerved  himself; 
but  while  he  was  pausing,  May,  glancing  at  the  two 
feeble  candles,  remarked :  "  It's  very  tiresome.  I'm 
sure  I  shan't  be  able  to  see  properly." 

"  No !  "  almost  shouted  Mr.  Blackshaw.  "  I'll 
watch  this  kid  have  his  bath  or  I'll  die  for  it!  I 
don't  care  if  all  the  Five  Towns  are  in  darkness.  I 
don't  care  if  the  Mayor's  aunt  has  got  caught  in  a 
dynamo  and  is  suffering  horrible  tortures.  I've  come 
to  see  this  bath  business,  and  dashed  if  I  don't  see 
it!" 

'  Well,  don't  stand  between  the  bath  and  the  fire, 
dearest,"  said  May  coldly. 

Meanwhile,  Emmie,  having  pretty  nearly  filled  the 
bath  with  a  combination  of  hot  and  cold  waters, 
dropped  the  floating  thermometer  into  it,  and  then 
added  more  waters  until  the  thermometer  indicated 
the  precise  temperature  proper  for  a  baby's  bath. 
But  you  3re  not  to  imagine  that  Mrs.  Blackshaw 
trusted  a  mere  thermometer 

She  did  not,  however,  thrust  her  bared  arm  into 
the  water  this  time.  No!  Roger,  who  never  cried 
before  his  bath,  was  crying,  was  indubitably  crying. 
And  he  cried  louder  and  louder. 

"  Stand  where  he  can't  see  you,  dearest.  He  isn't 
used  to  you  at  bath-time,"  said  Mrs.  Blackshaw  still 
coldly.  "Are  you,  my  pet?  There!  There!" 

Mr.  Blackshaw  effaced  himself,  feeling  a  fool. 
But  Roger  continued  to  cry.  He  cried  himself  pur- 


54     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

pie.  He  cried  till  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  fore- 
head and  his  mouth  was  like  a  map  of  Australia. 
He  cried  himself  into  a  monster  of  ugliness.  Neither 
mother  nor  nurse  could  do  anything  with  him  at  all. 

"  I  think  you've  upset  him,  dearest,"  said  Mrs. 
Blackshaw  even  more  coldly.  "  Hadn't  you  better 
go?" 

"  Well "  protested  the  father. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go,"  said  Mrs.  Black- 
shaw, adding  no  term  of  endearment,  and  visibly 
controlling  herself  with  difficulty. 

And  Mr.  Blackshaw  went.  He  had  to  go.  He 
went  out  into  the  unelectric  night.  He  headed  for 
the  Works,  not  because  he  cared  twopence,  at  that 
moment,  about  the  accident  at  the  Works,  whatever 
it  was;  but  simply  because  the  Works  was  the  only 
place  to  go  to.  And  even  outside  in  the  dark  street 
he  could  hear  the  rousing  accents  of  his  progeny. 

People  were  talking  to  each  other  as  they  groped 
about  in  the  road,  and  either  making  jokes  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  new  Electricity  Department,  or  frankly 
cursing  it  with  true  Five  Towns  directness  of  speech. 
And  as  Mr.  Blackshaw  went  down  the  hill  into  the 
town  his  heart  was  as  black  as  the  street  itself  with 
rage  and  disappointment.  He  had  made  his  child 
cry! 

Someone  stopped  him. 

"  Eh,  Mester  Blackshaw!  "  said  a  voice,  and  under 
the  voice  a  hand  struck  a  match  to  light  a  pipe. 
"  What's  th'  maning  o'  this  eclipse  as  you'm  treating 
uz  to?" 


BABY'S  BATH  55 

Mr.  Blackshaw  looked  right  through  the  inquirer 
—  a  way  he  had  when  his  brain  was  working  hard. 
And  he  suddenly  smiled  by  light  of  the  match. 

"  That  child  wasn't  crying  because  I  was  there" 
said  Mr.  Blackshaw  with  solemn  relief.  "  Not  at 
all!  He  was  crying  because  he  didn't  understand 
the  candles.  He  isn't  used  to  candles,  and  they 
frightened  him." 

And  he  began  to  hurry  towards  the  Works. 

At  the  same  instant  the  electric  light  returned  to 
Bursley.  The  current  was  resumed. 

"  That's  better,"  said  Mr.  Blackshaw,  sighing. 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE 


ALL  this  happened  at  a  Martinmas  Fair  in 
Bursley,  long  ago  in  the  fifties,  when  every- 
body throughout  the  Five  Towns  pronounced 
Bursley  "  Bosley  "  as  a  matter  of  course;  in  the  tedi- 
ous and  tragic  old  times,  before  it  had  been  discov- 
ered that  hell  was  a  myth,  and  before  the  invention 
of  pleasure  or  even  of  half-holidays.  Martinmas 
was  in  those  days  a  very  important  moment  in  the  an- 
nual life  of  the  town,  for  it  was  at  Martinmas  that 
potters'  wages  were  fixed  for  twelvemonths  ahead, 
and  potters  hired  themselves  out  for  that  term  at  the 
best  rate  they  could  get.  To  the  present  day  the 
housewives  reckon  chronology  by  Martinmas. 
They  say:  "  It'll  be  seven  years  come  Martinmas 
that  Sal's  babby  died  o'  convulsions."  Or:  "It 
was  that  year  as  it  rained  and  hailed  all  Martinmas." 
And  many  of  them  have  no  idea  why  it  is  Martin- 
mas, and  not  midsummer  or  Whitsun,  that  is  always 
on  the  tips  of  their  tongues. 

The  Fair  was  one  of  the  two  great  drunken  sprees 
of  the  year,  the  other  being  the  Wakes.  And  it 
was  meet  that  it  should  be  so,  for  intoxication  was 
a  powerful  aid  to  the  signing  of  contracts.  A  sot 

56 


JOCK-  AT-A-VENTURE  5  7 

would  put  his  name  to  anything,  gloriously ;  and  when 
he  had  signed  he  had  signed.  Thus  the  beaver- 
hatted  employers  smiled  at  Martinmas  drunkenness, 
and  smacked  it  familiarly  on  the  back;  and  little 
boys  swilled  themselves  into  the  gutter  with  their 
elders,  and  felt  intensely  proud  of  the  feat.  These 
heroic  old  times  have  gone  by,  never  to  return. 

It  was  on  the  Friday  before  Martinmas,  at  dusk. 
In  the  centre  of  the  town,  on  the  waste  ground  to  the 
north  of  the  "Shambles"  (as  the  stone-built  meat 
market  was  called),  and  in  the  space  between  the 
Shambles  and  the  as  yet  unfinished  new  Town  Hall, 
the  showmen  and  the  showgirls  and  the  showboys 
were  titivating  their  booths,  and  cooking  their  teas, 
and  watering  their  horses,  and  polishing  the  brass- 
rails  of  their  vans,  and  brushing  their  fancy  cos- 
tumes, and  hammering  fresh  tent-pegs  into  the  hard 
ground,  and  lighting  the  first  flares  of  the  evening, 
and  yarning,  and  quarrelling,  and  washing, —  all 
under  the  sombre  purple  sky,  for  the  diversion  of  a 
small  crowd  of  loafers,  big  and  little,  who  stood 
obstinately  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets  or  in 
their  sleeves,  missing  naught  of  the  promising  spec- 
tacle. 

Now  in  the  midst  of  what  in  less  than  twenty-four 
hours  would  be  the  Fair  was  to  be  seen  a  strange  and 
piquant  sight, —  namely,  a  group  of  three  white-tied, 
broad-brimmed  Dissenting  ministers,  in  earnest  con- 
verse with  fat  Mr.  Snaggs,  the  proprietor  of  Snaggs's 
—  Snaggs's  being  the  town  theatre,  a  wooden  erec- 
tion, generally  called  by  patrons  the  "  Blood-Tub," 


5  8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

on  account  of  its  sanguinary  programmes.  On 
this  occasion  Mr.  Snaggs  and  the  Dissenting  min- 
isters were  for  once  in  a  way  agreed.  They  all  ob- 
jected to  a  certain  feature  of  the  Fair.  It  was  not 
the  roundabouts,  so  crude  that  even  an  infant  of  to- 
day would  despise  them.  It  was  not  the  shooting 
galleries,  nor  the  cocoanut-shies.  It  was  not  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  beersellers,  which  were  formida- 
bly Bacchic.  It  was  not  the  boxing  booths,  where 
adventurous  youths  could  have  teeth  knocked  out  and 
eyes  smashed  in  free  of  charge.  It  was  not  the  mon- 
strosity booths,  where  misshapen  and  maimed  crea- 
tures of  both  sexes  were  displayed  all  alive  and  nearly 
nude  to  anybody  with  a  penny  to  spare.  What  Mr. 
Snaggs  and  the  ministers  of  religion  objected  to  was 
the  theatre-booths,  in  which  the  mirror,  more  or  less 
cracked  and  tarnished,  was  held  up  to  nature. 

Mr.  Snaggs's  objection  was  professional.  He  con- 
sidered that  he  alone  was  authorised  to  purvey  drama 
to  the  town;  he  considered  that  among  all  pur- 
veyors of  drama  he  alone  was  respectable,  the  rest 
being  upstarts,  poachers,  and  lewd  fellows.  And 
as  the  Dissenting  ministers  gazed  at  Mr.  Snaggs's 
superb  moleskin  waistcoat,  and  listened  to  his  positive 
brazen  voice,  they  were  almost  convinced  that  the 
hated  institution  of  the  theatre  could  be  made  re- 
spectable and  that  Mr.  Snaggs  had  so  made  it.  At 
any  rate,  by  comparison  with  these  flashy  and  flimsy 
booths,  the  Blood  Tub,  rooted  in  the  antiquity  of 
thirty  years,  had  a  dignified,  even  a  reputable  air, 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  59 

—  and  did  not  Mr.  Snaggs  give  frequent  perform- 
ances of  Cruickshanks'  "  The  Bottle,"  a  sermon 
against  intemperance  more  impressive  than  any  ser- 
mon delivered  from  a  pulpit  in  a  chapel  ?  The  Dis- 
senting ministers  listened  with  deference  as  Mr. 
Snaggs  explained  to  them  exactly  what  they  ought  to 
have  done,  and  what  they  had  failed  to  do,  in  order 
to  ensure  the  success  of  their  campaign  against  play- 
acting in  the  Fair;  a  campaign  which  now  for  several 
years  past  had  been  abortive, —  largely  (it  was  ru- 
moured) owing  to  the  secret  jealousy  of  the  Church 
of  England. 

"If  ony  on  ye  had  had  any  gumption,"  Mr. 
Snaggs  was  saying  fearlessly  to  the  parsons,  "  ye'd 

ha'  gone  straight  to  th'  Chief  Bailiff  and  ye'd  ha' 

Houch !  "  He  made  the  peculiar  exclamatory  noise 
roughly  indicated  by  the  last  word,  and  spat  in  dis- 
gust; and  without  the  slightest  ceremony  of  adieu 
walked  ponderously  away  up  the  slope,  leaving  his 
sentence  unfinished. 

"  It  is  remarkable  how  Mr.  Snaggs  flees  from  be- 
fore my  face,"  said  a  neat,  alert,  pleasant  voice  from 
behind  the  three  parsons.  "  And  yet  save  that  in 
my  unregenerate  day  I  once  knocked  him  off  a  stool 
in  front  of  his  own  theayter,  I  never  did  him  harm 
nor  wished  him  anything  but  good.  .  .  .  Gen- 
tlemen!" 

A  rather  small,  slight  man  of  about  forty,  with 
tiny  feet  and  hands,  and  "  very  quick  on  his  pins," 
saluted  the  three  parsons  gravely. 


60    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Mr.  Smith  1  "  one  parson  stiffly  inclined. 

"  Mr.  Smith !  "  from  the  second. 

"  Brother  Smith !  "  from  the  third,  who  was  Jock 
Smith's  own  parson,  being  in  charge  of  the  Bethesda 
in  Trafalgar  Road,  where  Jock  Smith  worshipped 
and  where  he  had  recently  begun  to  preach  as  a  local 
preacher. 

Jock  Smith,  herbalist,  shook  hands  with  vivacity 
but  also  with  self-consciousness.  He  was  self-con- 
scious because  he  knew  himself  to  be  one  of  the  chief 
characters  and  attractions  of  the  town,  because  he  was 
well  aware  that  wherever  he  went  people  stared  at 
him,  and  pointed  him  out  to  each  other.  And  he 
was  half-proud  and  half-ashamed  of  his  notoriety. 

Even  now  a  little  band  of  ragged  children  had 
wandered  after  him,  and,  undeterred  by  the  presence 
of  the  parsons,  were  repeating  among  themselves,  in 
a  low,  audacious  monotone: 

"  Jock-at-a- Venture !     Jock-at-a- Venture !  " 

II 

He  was  the  youngest  of  fourteen  children,  and 
when  he  was  a  month  old  his  mother  took  him  to 
church  to  be  christened.  The  rector  was  the  cele- 
brated Rappey,  sportsman,  who  (it  is  said)  once 
pawned  the  church  Bible  in  order  to  get  up  a  bear- 
baiting.  Rappey  asked  the  name  of  the  child,  and 
was  told  by  the  mother  that  she  had  come  to  the  end 
of  her  knowledge  of  names,  and  would  be  obliged 
for  a  suggestion.  Whereupon  Rappey  began  to  cite 
all  the  most  ludicrous  names  in  the  Bible,  such  as 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  6 1 

Aholibamah,  Kenaz,  Iram,  Baal-hanan,  Abiasaph, 
Amram,  Mushi,  Libni,  Nepheg,  Abihu.  And  the 
mother  laughed,  shaking  her  head.  And  Rappey 
went  on:  Shimi,  Carmi,  Jochebed.  And  at  Joche- 
bed  the  mother  had  become  hysterical  with  laughter. 
"  Jock-at-a- Venture,"  she  had  sniggered,  and  Rappey, 
mischievously  taking  her  at  her  word,  christened  the 
infant  Jock-at-a- Venture  before  she  could  protest;  and 
the  infant  was  stamped  forever  as  peculiar. 

He  lived  up  to  his  name.  He  ran  away  twice, 
and  after  having  been  both  a  sailor  and  a  soldier,  he 
returned  home  with  the  accomplishment  of  flourish- 
ing a  razor,  and  settled  in  Bursley  as  a  barber.  Im- 
mediately he  became  the  most  notorious  barber  in  the 
Five  Towns,  on  account  of  his  gab  and  his  fisticuffs. 
It  was  he  who  shaved  the  left  side  of  the  face  of  an 
insulting  lieutenant  of  dragoons  (after  the  great  riots 
of  '45,  which  two  thousand  military  had  not  quelled) , 
and  then  pitched  him  out  of  the  shop  soapsuds  and 
all,  and  fought  him  to  a  finish  in  the  Cock  Yard  and 
flung  him  through  the  archway  into  the  market-place 
with  just  half  a  magnificent  beard  and  moustache. 
It  was  he  who  introduced  hair-dyeing  into  Bursley. 
Hair-dyeing  might  have  grown  popular  in  the  town 
if  one  night,  owing  to  some  confusion  with  red  ink, 
the  Chairman  of  the  Bursley  Burial  Board  had  not 
emerged  from  Jock-at-a- Venture's  with  a  vermilion 
topknot  and  been  greeted  on  the  pavement  by  his 
waiting  wife  with  the  bitter  words :  "  Thou  fool !  " 

A  little  later  Jock-at-a-Venture  abandoned  barber- 
ing,  and  took  up  music,  for  which  he  had  always 


62     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

shown  a  mighty  gift.  He  was  really  musical,  and 
performed  on  both  the  piano  and  the  cornet,  not 
merely  with  his  hands  and  mouth,  but  with  the  whole 
of  his  agile,  expressive  body.  He  made  a  good  liv- 
ing out  of  public-houses  and  tea-meetings,  for  none 
could  play  the  piano  like  Jock,  were  it  hymns  or  were 
it  jigs.  His  cornet  was  employed  in  a  band  at  Moor- 
thorne,  the  mining  village  to  the  east  of  Bursley,  and 
on  his  nocturnal  journeys  to  and  from  Moorthorne 
with  the  beloved  instrument  he  had  had  many  a  set-to 
with  the  marauding  colliers  who  made  the  road  dan- 
gerous for  cowards.  One  result  of  his  connection 
with  Moorthorne  was  that  a  boxing-club  had  been 
formed  in  Bursley,  with  Jock  as  chief,  for  the  up- 
holding of  Bursley's  honour  against  visiting  Moor- 
thorne colliers  in  Bursley's  market-place. 

Then  came  Jock's  conversion  to  religion,  a  blazing 
affair,  and  his  abandonment  of  public-houses.  As 
tea-meetings  alone  would  not  keep  him,  he  had 
started  again  in  life,  for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time, —  as 
a  herbalist  now.  It  was  a  vocation  which  suited  his 
delicate  hands  and  his  enthusiasm  for  humanity.  At 
last,  and  quite  lately,  he  had  risen  to  be  a  local 
preacher.  His  first  two  sermons  had  impassioned 
the  congregations,  though  there  were  critics  to  accuse 
him  of  theatricality.  Accidents  happened  to  him 
sometimes.  On  this  very  afternoon  of  the  Friday 
before  Martinmas  an  accident  had  happened  to  him. 
He  had  been  playing  the  piano  at  the  rehearsal  of 
the  Grand  Annual  Evening  Concert  of  the  Bursley 
Male  Glee-Singers.  The  Bursley  Male  Glee-Sing- 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  63 

ers,  determined  to  beat  records,  had  got  a  soprano 
with  a  foreign  name  down  from  Manchester.  On 
seeing  the  shabby,  perky  little  man  who  was  to  ac- 
company her  songs  the  soprano  had  had  a  moment 
of  terrible  misgiving.  But  as  soon  as  Jock,  with  a 
careful-careless  glance  at  the  music  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  had  played  the  first  chords  (with 
a  "How's  that  for  time,  missis?"),  she  was  reas- 
sured. At  the  end  of  the  song  her  enthusiasm  for 
the  musical  gifts  of  the  local  artist  was  such  that  she 
had  sprung  from  the  platform  and  simply  but  cor- 
dially kissed  him.  She  was  a  stout  feverish  lady. 
He  liked  a  lady  to  be  stout;  and  the  kiss  was  pleas- 
ant, and  the  compliment  enormous.  But  what  a 
calamity  for  a  local  preacher  with  a  naughty  past  to 
be  kissed  in  full  rehearsal  by  a  soprano  from  Man- 
chester! He  knew  that  he  had  to  live  that  kiss 
down,  and  to  live  down  also  the  charge  of  theat- 
ricality. 

Here  was  a  reason,  and  a  very  good  one,  why  he 
deliberately  sought  the  company  of  parsons  in  the 
middle  of  the  Fair-ground.  He  had  to  protect  him- 
self against  tongues. 


"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jock-at-a- Venture  to  the  par- 
sons, gesturing  with  his  hands,  and  twisting  his  small 
elegant  feet,  "  I  don't  know  as  I'm  in  favour  of  stop- 
ping these  play-acting  folk  from  making  a  living  — 
stopping  'em  by  force,  that  is." 

He  knew  that  he  had  said  something  shocking, 


64     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

something  that  when  he  joined  the  group  he  had  not 
in  the  least  meant  to  say.  He  knew  that  instead  of 
protecting  himself  he  was  exposing  himself  to  dan- 
ger. But  he  did  not  care.  When,  as  now,  he  was 
carried  away  by  an  idea,  he  cared  for  naught.  And 
moreover  he  had  the  consciousness  of  being  cleverer, 
acuter,  than  any  of  these  ministers  of  religion,  than 
anybody  in  the  town !  His  sheer  skill  and  resource- 
fulness in  life  had  always  borne  him  safely  through 
every  difficulty  —  from  a  prizefight  to  a  soprano's 
embrace. 

"  A  strange  doctrine,  Brother  Smith !  "  said  Jock's 
own  pastor. 

The  other  two  hummed  and  hawed,  and  brought 
the  tips  of  their  fingers  together. 

"  Nay !  "  said  Jock,  persuasively  smiling.  "  'Stead 
o'  bringing  'em  to  starvation,  bring  'em  to  the  house 
o'  God!  Preach  the  gospel  to  'em,  and  then  when 
ye've  preached  the  gospel  to  'em,  happen  they'll 
change  their  ways  o'  their  own  accord.  Or  happen 
they'll  put  their  play-acting  to  the  service  o'  God.  If 
there's  plays  agen  drink,  why  shouldna'  there  be  plays 
agen  the  devil,  and  for  Jesus  Christ,  our  blessed  Re- 
deemer? " 

"  Good  day  to  you,  brethren,"  said  one  of  the  par- 
sons, and  departed.  Thus  only  could  he  express  his 
horror  of  Jock's  sentiments. 

In  those  days  churches  and  chapels  were  not  so 
empty  that  parsons  had  to  go  forth  beating  up  con- 
gregations. A  pew  was  a  privilege.  And  those  who 
did  not  frequent  the  means  of  grace  had  at  any  rate 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  65 

the  grace  to  be  ashamed  of  not  doing  so.  And  fur- 
ther, strolling  players,  in  spite  of  John  Wesley's  ex- 
hortations, were  not  considered  to  be  salvable.  The 
notion  of  trying  to  rescue  them  from  merited  perdi- 
tion was  too  fantastic  to  be  seriously  entertained  by 
serious  Christians.  Finally,  the  suggested  connec- 
tion between  Jesus  Christ  and  a  stage-play  was  really 
too  appalling!  None  but  Jock-at-a-Venture  would 
have  been  capable  of  such  an  idea. 

"  I  think,  my  friend "  began  the  second  re- 
maining minister. 

"  Look  at  that  good  woman  there !  "  cried  Jock- 
at-a-Venture,  interrupting  him  with  a  dramatic  out- 
stretching of  the  right  arm,  as  he  pointed  to  a  very 
stout  but  comely  dame  who,  seated  on  a  three-legged 
stool,  was  calmly  peeling  potatoes  in  front  of  one  of 
the  more  resplendent  booths.  "  Look  at  that  face ! 
Is  there  no  virtue  in  it?  Is  there  no  hope  for  salva- 
tion in  it?" 

"  None,"  Jock's  pastor  replied  mournfully. 
"  That  woman  —  her  name  is  Clowes  —  is  notorious. 
She  has  eight  children,  and  she  has  brought  them  all 
up  to  her  trade.  I  have  made  enquiries.  The  elder 
daughters  are  actresses  and  married  to  play-actors, 
and  even  the  youngest  child  is  taught  to  strut  on  the 
boards.  Her  troupe  is  the  largest  in  the  Midlands." 

Jock-at-a- Venture  was  certainly  dashed  by  this  in- 
formation. 

"  The  more  reason,"  said  he  obstinately,  "  for  sav- 
ing her!  .  .  .  And  all  hers!  " 

The  two  ministers  did  not  want  her  to  be  saved. 


66     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

They  liked  to  think  of  the  theatre  as  being  beyond 
the  pale.  They  remembered  the  time,  before  they 
were  ordained,  and  after,  when  they  had  hotly  de- 
sired to  see  the  inside  of  a  theatre  and  to  rub  shoul- 
ders with  wickedness.  And  they  took  pleasure  in 
the  knowledge  that  the  theatre  was  always  there, 
and  the  wickedness  thereof,  and  the  lost  souls  therein. 
But  Jock-at-a- Venture  genuinely  longed,  in  that  ec- 
stasy of  his,  for  the  total  abolition  of  all  forms  of  sin. 

"  And  what  would  you  do  to  save  her,  brother?  " 
Jock's  pastor  enquired  coldly. 

"  What  would  I  do?  I'd  go  and  ask  her  to  come 
to  chapel  Sunday,  her  and  hers.  I'd  axe  her  kindly, 
and  I'd  crack  a  joke  with  her.  And  I'd  get  round 
her  for  the  Lord's  sake." 

Both  ministers  sighed.  The  same  thought  was 
in  their  hearts:  namely,  that  brands  plucked  from 
the  burning  (such  as  Jock)  had  a  disagreeable  ten- 
dency to  carry  piety,  as  they  had  carried  sin,  to  the 
most  ridiculous  and  inconvenient  lengths. 

IV 

"  Those  are  bonny  potatoes,  missis  !  " 
"  Ay  I  "  The  stout  woman,  the  upper  part  of 
whose  shabby  dress  seemed  to  be  subjected  to  con- 
siderable strains,  looked  at  Jock  carelessly,  and  then, 
attracted  perhaps  by  his  eager  face,  smiled  with  a  cer- 
tain facile  amiability. 

"  But  by  th'  time  they're  cooked  your  supper'll  be 
late,  I'm  reckoning." 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  67 

"  Them  potatoes  have  naught  to  do  with  our  sup- 
per," said  Mrs.  Clowes.  "  They're  for  to-morrow's 
dinner.  There'll  be  no  time  for  peeling  potatoes 
to-morrow.  Kezia !  "  She  shrilled  the  name. 

A  slim  little  girl  showed  herself  between  the  heavy 
curtains  of  the  main  tent  of  Mrs.  Clowes'  caravan- 
serai. 

"  Bring  Sapphira,  too !  " 

"  Those  yours?  "  asked  Jock. 

"  They're  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Clowes.  "  And  I've 
six  more,  not  counting  grandchildren  and  sons-in- 
law  like." 

"  No  wonder  you  want  a  pailful  of  potatoes !  " 
said  Jock. 

Kezia  and  Sapphira  appeared  in  the  gloom.  They 
might  have  counted  sixteen  years  together.  They 
were  dirty,  tousled,  graceful  and  lovely. 

"  Twins,"  Jock  suggested. 

Mrs.  Clowes  nodded.  "  Off  with  this  pail,  now! 
And  mind  you  don't  spill  the  water.  Here  Kezia  I 
Take  the  knife.  And  bring  me  the  other  pail." 

The  children  bore  away  the  heavy  pail,  staggering, 
eagerly  obedient.  Mrs.  Clowes  lifted  her  mighty 
form  from  the  stool,  shook  peelings  from  the  secret 
places  of  her  endless  apron,  and  calmly  sat  down 
again. 

"  Ye  rule  'em  with  a  rod  of  iron,  missis,"  said 
Jock. 

She  smiled  good-humouredly,  and  shrugged  her 
vast  shoulders  —  no  mean  physical  feat. 


68     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  I  keep  'em  lively,"  she  said.  "  There's  twelve 
of  'em  in  my  lot,  without  th'  two  babbies.  Some- 
one's got  to  be  after  'em  all  the  time." 

"  And  you  not  thirty-five,  I  swear  I  " 

"Nay!     Ye're  wrong." 

Sapphira  brought  her  other  pail,  swinging  it.  She 
put  it  down  with  a  clatter  of  the  falling  handle,  and 
scurried  off. 

"Am  I  now?"  Jock  murmured,  interested;  and, 
as  it  were,  out  of  sheer  absent-mindedness,  he  turned 
the  pail  wrong  side  up,  and  seated  hmself  on  it  with 
a  calm  that  equalled  the  calm  of  Mrs.  Clowes. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark.  The  flares  of  the  show- 
men were  answering  each  other  across  the  fair- 
ground; and  presently  a  young  man  came  and  hung 
one  out  above  the  railed  platform  of  Mrs.  Clowes' 
booth;  and  Mrs.  Clowes  blinked.  From  behind  the 
booth  floated  the  sounds  of  the  confused  chatter  of 
men,  girls,  and  youngsters,  together  with  the  com- 
plaint of  an  infant.  A  few  yards  away  from  Mrs. 
Clowes  was  a  truss  of  hay ;  a  pony  sidled  from  some- 
where with  false  innocence  up  to  this  truss,  nosed  it 
cautiously,  and  then  began  to  bite  wisps  from  it. 
Occasionally  a  loud  but  mysterious  cry  swept  across 
the  ground.  The  sky  was  full  of  mystery.  Against 
the  sky  to  the  west  stood  black  and  clear  the  silhou- 
ette of  the  new  Town  Hall  spire,  a  wondrous  erec- 
tion; and  sticking  out  from  it  at  one  side  was  the 
form  of  a  gigantic  angel.  It  was  the  gold  angel 
which  from  the  summit  of  the  spire  has  now  watched 
over  Bursley  for  half  a  century,  but  which  on  that 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  69 

particular  Friday  had  been  lifted  only  two  thirds  of 
the  way  to  its  final  home. 

Jock-at-a- Venture  felt  deeply  all  the  influences  of 
the  scene  and  of  the  woman.  He  was  one  of  your 
romantic  creatures ;  and  for  him  the  woman  was  mag- 
nificent. Her  magnificence  thrilled. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  say?"  she  quizzed 
him.  "  Sitting  on  my  pail!  " 

Now  to  quiz  Jock  was  to  challenge  him. 

"  Sitting  on  your  pail,  missis,"  he  replied,  "  I'm 
going  for  to  say  that  you're  much  too  handsome  a 
woman  to  go  down  to  hell  in  eternal  damnation." 

She  was  taken  aback,  but  her  profession  had  taught 
her  the  art  of  quick  recovery. 

"  You  belong  to  that  Methody  lot,"  she  mildly 
sneered.  "  I  thought  I  seed  you  talking  to  them 
white-chokers." 

"  I  do,"  said  Jock. 

u  And  I  make  no  doubt  you  think  yourself  very 
clever." 

"  Well,"  he  vouchsafed,  "  I  can  splice  rope,  shave 
a  head,  cure  a  wart  or  a  boil,  and  tell  a  fine  woman 
with  any  man  in  this  town.  Not  to  mention  boxing, 
as  I've  given  up  on  account  of  my  religion." 

"  I  was  handsome  once,"  said  Mrs.  Clowes,  with 
apparent,  but  not  real,  inconsequence.  "  But  I'm 
all  run  to  fat,  like.  I've  played  Portia  in  my  time. 
But  now  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  get  through  with 
Maria  Martin  or  Belladonna." 

"Fat!"  Jock  protested.  "Fat  I  I  wouldn't 
have  a  ounce  taken  off  ye  for  fifty  guineas." 


70    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

He  was  so  enthusiastic  that  Mrs.  Clowes  blushed. 

"What's  this  about  hell-fire?"  she  questioned. 
"  I  often  think  of  it  —  I'm  a  lonely  woman,  and  I 
often  think  of  it." 

"You  lonely!"  Jock  protested  again.  "With 
all  them  children?  " 

"Ay!" 

There  was  a  silence. 

"See  thee  here,  missis  1"  he  exploded,  jumping 
up  from  the  pail.  "  Ye  must  come  to  th'  Bethesda 
down  yon,  on  Sunday  morning,  and  hear  the  word  o' 
God.  It'll  be  the  making  on  ye." 

Mrs.  Clowes  shook  her  head. 

"Nay!" 

"  And  bring  ye  children,"  he  persisted. 

"  If  it  was  you  as  was  going  to  preach  like !  "  she 
said,  looking  away. 

"  It  is  me  as  is  going  to  preach,"  he  answered 
loudly  and  proudly.  "  And  I'll  preach  agen  any 
man  in  this  town  for  a  dollar  I  " 

Jock  was  forgetting  himself:  an  accident  which 
often  happened  to  him. 

V 

The  Bethesda  was  crowded  on  Sunday  morning; 
partly  because  it  was  Martinmas  Sunday,  and  partly 
because  the  preacher  happened  to  be  Jock-at-a- Ven- 
ture. That  Jock  should  have  been  appointed,  on  the 
"  plan  "  [rota  of  preachers]  to  discourse  in  the  prin- 
cipal chapel  of  the  Connexion  at  such  an  important 
feast  showed  what  extraordinary  progress  he  had 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  7 1 

already  made  in  the  appreciation  of  that  small  public 
of  experts  which  aided  the  parson  in  drawing  up  the 
quarterly  plan.  At  the  hands  of  the  larger  public 
his  reception  was  sure.  Some  sixteen  hundred  of 
the  larger  public  had  crammed  themselves  into  the 
chapel,  and  there  was  not  an  empty  place  either  on 
the  ground  floor  or  in  the  galleries.  Even  the  "  or- 
chestra "  (as  the  "singing  seat"  was  then  called) 
had  visitors  in  addition  to  the  choir  and  the  double- 
bass  players.  And  not  a  window  was  open.  At  that 
date  it  had  not  occurred  to  people  that  fresh  air  was 
not  a  menace  to  existence.  The  whole  congregation 
was  sweltering,  and  rather  enjoying  it;  for  in  some 
strangely  subtle  manner  perspiration  seemed  to  be 
a  help  to  religious  emotion.  Scores  of  women  were 
fanning  themselves;  and  among  these  was  a  very 
stout  peony-faced  woman  of  about  forty  in  a  gorgeous 
yellow  dress  and  a  red-and-black  bonnet,  with  a  large 
boy  and  a  small  girl  under  one  arm,  and  a  large  boy 
and  a  small  girl  under  the  other  arm.  The  splen- 
dour of  the  group  appeared  somewhat  at  odds  with 
the  penury  of  the  "  Free  Seats  "  whither  it  had  been 
conducted  by  a  steward. 

In  the  pulpit,  dominating  all,  was  Jock-at-a- Ven- 
ture, who  sweated  like  the  rest.  He  presented  a 
rather  noble  aspect  in  his  broadcloth,  so  different 
from  his  careless  shabby  weekday  attire.  His  eye 
was  lighted;  his  arm  raised  in  a  compelling  gesture. 
Pausing  effectively,  he  lifted  a  glass  with  his  left  hand 
and  sipped.  It  was  the  signal  that  he  had  arrived 
at  his  peroration.  His  perorations  were  famous. 


72     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

And  this  morning  everybody  felt,  and  he  himself 
knew,  that  all  previous  perorations  were  to  be  sur- 
passed. His  subject  was  the  wrath  to  come,  and  the 
transient  quality  of  human  life  on  earth.  "  Yea," 
he  announced,  in  gradually  increasing  thunder,  "  all 
shall  go.  And  loike  the  baseless  fabric  o'  a  vision, 
the  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces,  the 
solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself  —  yea,  I  say, 
all  which  it  inherits  shall  dissolve,  and,  like  this  un- 
substantial payjent  faded,  leave  not  a  rack  behind." 

His  voice  had  fallen  for  the  last  words.  After  a 
dramatic  silence,  he  finished,  in  a  whisper  almost, 
with  eyebrows  raised  and  staring  gaze  directed 
straight  at  the  vast  woman  in  yellow :  "  We  are 
such  stuff  as  drames  are  made  on;  and  our  little  life 
is  rounded  with  a  sleep.  May  God  have  mercy  on  us. 
Hymn  442." 

The  effect  was  terrific.  Men  sighed  and  women 
wept,  in  relief  that  the  strain  was  past.  Jock  was  an 
orator;  he  wielded  the  orator's  dominion.  Well  he 
knew,  and  well  they  all  knew,  that  not  a  professional 
preacher  in  the  Five  Towns  could  play  on  a  congre- 
gation as  he  did.  For  when  Jock  was  roused  you 
could  nigh  see  the  waves  of  emotion  sweeping  across 
the  upturned  faces  of  his  hearers  like  waves  across  a 
wheat-field  on  a  windy  day. 

And  this  morning  he  had  been  roused. 

VI 

But  in  the  vestry  after  the  service  he  met  enemies, 
in  the  shape  and  flesh  of  the  chapel  steward  and  the 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  73 

circuit-steward,  Mr.  Brett  and  Mr.  Hanks  respec- 
tively. Both  these  important  officials  were  local 
preachers,  but  unfortunately  their  godliness  did  not 
protect  them  against  the  ravages  of  jealousy. 
Neither  of  them  could  stir  a  congregation  nor  even 
fill  a  country  chapel. 

"  Brother  Smith,"  said  Jabez  Hanks,  shutting  the 
door  of  the  vestry.  He  was  a  tall  man  with  a  long 
greyish  beard  and  no  moustache.  "  Brother  Smith, 
it  is  borne  in  upon  me  and  my  brother  here  to  ask 
ye  a  question." 

"Ask  I  "said  Jock. 

"  Were  them  yer  own  words  —  about  cloud- 
capped  towers  and  baseless  fabrics  and  the  like?  I 
ask  ye  civilly." 

"  And  I  answer  ye  civilly,  they  were,"  replied 
Jock. 

"  Because  I  have  here,"  said  Jabez  Hanks,  ma- 
liciously, "  Dod's  '  Beauties  o'  Shakespeare,'  where 
I  find  them  very  same  words,  taken  from  a  stage-play 
called  '  The  Tempest.'  " 

Jock  went  a  little  pale  as  Jabez  Hanks  opened  the 
book. 

"  They  may  be  Shakespeare's  words,  too,"  said 
Jock  lightly. 

"  A  fortnight  ago,  at  Moorthorne  Chapel,  I  sus- 
pected it,"  said  Jabez. 

"Suspected  what?" 

"  Suspected  ye  o'  quoting  Shakespeare  in  our  pul- 
pits." 

"And  cannot  a  man  quote  in  a  sermon?     Why, 


74    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Jabez  Hanks,  I've  heard  ye  quote  Matthew  Henry 
by  the  fathom." 

"  YeVe  never  heard  me  quote  a  stage-play  in  a 
pulpit,  Brother  Smith,"  said  Jabez  Hanks  majestic- 
ally. "  And  as  long  as  I'm  chapel  steward  it  wunna 
be  tolerated  in  this  chapel." 

"  Wunner  it?  "  Jock  put  in  defiantly. 

"  It's  a  defiling  of  the  Lord's  temple ;  that's  what 
it  is !  "  Jabez  Hanks  continued.  "  Ye  make  out  as 
ye're  against  stage-plays  at  the  Fair,  and  yet  ye  come 
here  and  mouth  'em  in  a  Christian  pulpit.  You 
agen  stage-plays!  Weren't  yer  seen  talking  by  the 
hour  to  one  o'  them  trulls,  Friday  night?  And 
weren't  ye  seen  peeping  through  th'  canvas  last  night? 
And  was " 

"  Now  what?  "  Jock  enquired,  approaching  Jabez 
on  his  springy  toes,  and  looking  up  at  Jabez'  great 
height. 

Jabez  took  breath.  "  Now  ye  bring  yer  fancy 
women  into  the  house  o'  God !  You  —  a  servant  o' 
Christ,  you " 

Jock-at-a-Venture  interrupted  the  sentence  with  his 
darting  fist,  which  seemed  to  lift  Jabez  from  the 
ground  by  his  chin,  and  then  to  let  him  fall  in  a  heap, 
as  though  his  clothes  had  been  a  sack  containing  loose 
bones. 

"  A  good-day  to  ye,  Brother  Brett,"  said  Jock, 
reaching  for  his  hat,  and  departing  with  a  slam  of 
the  vestry-door. 

He  emerged  at  the  back  of  the  chapel,  and  got  by 
"  back-entries "  into  Aboukir  Street,  up  which  he 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  75 

strolled  with  a  fine  show  of  tranquillity  as  far  as  the 
corner  of  Trafalgar  Road,  where  stood  and  stands 
the  great  Dragon  Hotel.  The  congregations  of  sev- 
eral chapels  were  dispersing  slowly  round  about  this 
famous  corner,  and  Jock  had  to  salute  several  of  his 
own  audience.  Then  suddenly  he  saw  Mrs.  Clowes 
and  her  four  youngest  children  enter  the  tap-room 
door  of  the  Dragon. 

He  hesitated  one  second,  and  followed  the  varie- 
gated flotilla  and  its  convoy. 

The  tap-room  was  fairly  full  of  both  sexes.  But 
among  them  Jock  and  Mrs.  Clowes  and  her  children 
were  the  only  persons  who  had  been  to  church  or 
chapel. 

"  Here's  preacher,  Mother !  "  Kezia  whispered, 
blushing,  to  Mrs.  Clowes. 

"  Eh,"  said  Mrs.  Clowes,  turning  very  amiably. 
"  It's  never  you,  mester !  It  was  that  hot  in  that 
chapel  we're  all  on  us  dying  of  thirst.  .  ' .  .  Four 
gills  and  a  pint,  please!  "  (This  to  the  tapster.) 

"  And  give  me  a  pint,"  said  Jock  desperately. 

They  all  sat  down  familiarly.  That  a  mother 
should  take  her  children  into  a  public-house,  and  give 
them  beer,  and  on  a  Sunday  of  all  days,  and  immedi- 
ately after  a  sermon !  That  a  local  preacher  should 
go  direct  from  the  vestry  to  the  gin-place  and  there 
drink  ale  with  a  strolling-player !  These  phenomena 
were  simply  and  totally  inconceivable!  And  yet 
Jock  was  in  presence  of  them,  assisting  at  them,  posi- 
tively acting  in  them!  And  in  spite  of  her  enormi- 
ties, Mrs.  Clowes  still  struck  him  as  a  most  agreeable, 


76     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

decent,  kindly,  motherly  woman, —  quite  apart  from 
her  handsomeness.  And  her  offspring,  each  hidden 
to  the  eyes  behind  a  mug,  were  a  very  well-behaved 
lot  of  children. 

"  It  does  us  good,"  said  Mrs.  Clowes,  quaffing. 
"  And  ye  need  sommat  to  keep  ye  up  in  these  days ! 
We  did  *  Belphegor,'  and  *  The  Witch  '  and  a  har- 
lequinade last  night.  And  not  one  o'  these  childer 
got  to  bed  before  half  after  midnight.  But  I  was  de- 
termined to  have  'em  at  chapel  this  morning.  And 
not  sorry  I  am  I  went!  Eh,  mester,  what  a  Virgin- 
ius  you'd  ha'  made !  I  never  heard  preaching  like  it 
—  not  as  I've  heard  much !  " 

"  And  you'll  never  hear  anything  like  it  again, 
Missis,"  said  Jock.  "  For  I've  preached  my  last 
sermon." 

"  Nay,  nay  1  "  Mrs.  Clowes  deprecated. 

"  I've  preached  my  last  sermon,"  said  Jock  again. 
"  And  if  I've  saved  a  soul  wi'  it,  missis  ...  1  " 
He  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  then  drank. 

"  I  won't  say  as  you  haven't,"  said  Mrs.  Clowes, 
lowering  her  eyes. 

VII 

Rather  less  than  a  week  later,  on  a  darkening 
night,  a  van  left  the  town  of  Bursley  by  the  Moor- 
thorne  Road  on  its  way  to  Axe-in-the-Moors,  which 
is  the  metropolis  of  the  wild  wastes  that  cut  off  north- 
ern Staffordshire  from  Derbyshire.  This  van  was 
the  last  of  Mrs.  Clowes'  caravanserai,  and  almost 
the  last  to  leave  the  Fair.  Owing  to  popular  in- 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  77 

terest  in  the  events  of  Jock-at-a- Venture's  public  ca- 
reer, in  whose  meshes  Mrs.  Clowes  had  somehow  got 
caught,  the  booth  of  Mrs.  Clowes  had  succeeded  be- 
yond any  other  booth,  and  had  kept  open  longer 
and  burned  more  naphtha  and  taken  far  more  money. 
The  larger  vans  of  the  stout  lady's  enterprise  (there 
were  three  in  all)  had  gone  forward  in  advance,  with 
all  her  elder  children  and  her  children-in-law  and  her 
grandchildren,  and  the  heavy  wood  and  canvas  of 
the  booth.  Mrs.  Clowes,  transacting  her  own  busi- 
ness herself,  from  habit,  invariably  brought  up  the 
rear  of  her  procession  out  of  a  town;  and  sometimes 
her  leisurely  manner  of  settling  with  the  town  authori- 
ties for  water,  ground-space,  and  other  necessary  com- 
modities, left  her  several  miles  behind  her  tribe. 

The  mistress's  van,  though  it  would  not  compare 
with  the  glorious  vehicles  that  showmen  put  upon 
the  road  in  these  days,  was  a  roomy  and  dignified 
specimen,  and  about  as  good  as  money  could  then  buy. 
The  front  portion  consisted  of  a  parlour  and  kitchen 
combined,  and  at  the  back  was  a  dormitory.  In  the 
dormitory  Kezia,  Sapphira,  and  the  youngest  of  their 
brothers,  were  sleeping  hard.  In  the  parlour  and 
kitchen  sat  Mrs.  Clowes,  warmly  enveloped,  holding 
the  reins  with  her  right  hand,  and  a  shabby  paper- 
covered  book  in  her  left  hand.  The  book  was  the 
celebrated  play  "  The  Gamester,"  and  Mrs.  Clowes 
was  studying  therein  the  role  of  Dulcibel.  Not  a 
role  for  which  Mrs.  Clowes  was  physically  fitted; 
but  her  prolific  daughter,  Hephzibah,  to  whom  it 
appertained  by  prescription,  could  not  possibly  play 


78     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

it  any  longer,  and  would  indeed  be  incapacitated 
from  any  role  whatever  for  at  least  a  month !  And 
the  season  was  not  yet  over;  for  folk  were  hardier  in 
those  days. 

The  reins  stretched  out  from  the  careless  hand  of 
Mrs.  Clowes,  and  vanished  through  a  slit  between 
the  double-doors,  which  had  been  fixed  slightly  open. 
Mrs.  Clowes'  gaze,  penetrating  now  and  then  the  slit, 
could  see  the  gleam  of  her  lamp's  ray  on  a  horse's 
flank.  The  only  sounds  were  the  hoof-falls  of  the 
horse,  the  crunching  of  the  wheels  on  the  wet  road, 
the  occasional  rattle  of  a  vessel  in  the  racks  when  the 
van  happened  to  descend  violently  into  a  rut,  and  the 
steady  murmur  of  Mrs.  Clowes'  voice  rehearsing  the 
grandiloquence  of  the  part  of  Dulcibel. 

And  then  there  was  another  sound,  which  Mrs. 
Clowes  did  not  notice  until  it  had  been  repeated  sev- 
eral times;  the  cry  of  a  human  voice  out  on  the  road: 

"Missis!" 

She  opened  wide  the  doors  of  the  van,  and  looked 
prudently  forth.  Naturally,  inevitably,  Jock-at-a- 
Venture  was  trudging  alongside,  level  with  the  horse's 
tail !  He  stepped  nimbly  —  he  was  a  fine  walker  — 
but  none  the  less  his  breath  came  short  and  quick,  for 
he  had  been  making  haste  up  a  steepish  hill  in  order 
to  overtake  the  van.  And  he  carried  a  bundle  and  a 
stick  in  his  hands,  arid  on  his  head  a  superb  but  heavy 
beaver  hat. 

"  I'm  going  your  way,  missis,"  said  Jock. 

"  Seemingly,"  agreed  Mrs.  Clowes,  with  due  cau- 
tion. 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  79 

"  Canst  gi'  us  a  lift?  "  he  asked. 

"  And  welcome !  "  she  said,  her  face  changing  like 
a  flash  to  suit  the  words. 

"  Nay,  ye  needna'  stop !  "  shouted  Jock. 

In  an  instant  he  had  leapt  easily  up  into  the  van, 
and  was  seated  by  her  side  therein  on  the  children's 
stool. 

"That's  a  hat  —  to  travel  in!"  observed  Mrs. 
Clowes. 

Jock  removed  the  hat,  examined  it  lovingly,  and 
replaced  it. 

"  I  couldn't  ha'  left  it  behind,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh, 
and  continued  rapidly  in  another  voice:  "Missis, 
we've  seen  a  pretty  good  lot  of  each  other  this  week, 
and  yet  ye  slips  off  o'  this'n,  without  saying  good-bye, 
nor  a  word  about  yer  soul !  " 

Mrs.  Clowes  heaved  her  enormous  breast,  and 
shook  the  reins. 

"  I've  had  my  share  of  trouble,"  she  remarked 
mysteriously. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  missis  1  " 

And  lo !  in  a  moment,  lured  on  by  his  smile,  she 
was  telling  him  quite  familiarly  about  the  ailments  of 
her  younger  children,  the  escapades  of  her  unmarried 
daughter,  aged  fifteen,  the  surliness  of  one  of  her 
sons-in-law,  the  budding  dishonesty  of  the  other,  the 
perils  of  infant  life,  and  the  need  of  repainting  the 
big  van  and  getting  new  pictures  for  the  front  of  the 
booth.  Indeed,  all  the  worries  of  a  queen  of  the 
road. 

"  And  I'm  so  fat !  "  she  said.     "  And  yet  I'm  not 


8o    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

forty,  and  shan't  be  for  two  year  —  and  me  a  grand-. 

mother!  " 

"  I  knowed  it !  "  Jock  exclaimed. 

"  If  I  wasn't  such  a  heap  o'  flesh " 

"  Ye're  the  grandest  heap  o'  flesh  as  I  ever  set  eyes 

on,  and  I'm  telling  ye !  "  Jock  interrupted  her. 


VIII 

Then  there  were  disconcerting  sounds  out  in  the 
world  beyond  the  van.  The  horse  stopped.  The 
double-doors  were  forced  open  from  without,  and  a 
black  figure,  with  white  eyes  in  a  black  face,  filled  the 
doorway.  The  van  had  passed  through  the  mining 
village  of  Moorthorne,  and  this  was  one  of  the  ma- 
rauding colliers  on  the  outskirts  thereof.  When  the 
colliers  had  highroad  business  in  the  night  they  did 
not  trouble  to  wash  their  faces  after  work.  The  coal- 
dust  was  a  positive  aid  to  them,  for  it  gave  them  a 
most  useful  semblance  to  the  devil. 

Jock-at-a-Venture  sprang  up  as  though  launched 
from  a  catapult. 

"  Is  it  thou,  Jock?  "  cried  the  collier,  astounded. 

"Ay,  lad!"  said  Jock  briefly. 

And  caught  the  collier  a  blow  under  the  chin  that 
sent  him  flying  into  the  obscurity  of  the  night.  Other 
voices  sounded  in  the  road.  Jock  rushed  to  the  door- 
way, taking  a  pistol  from  his  pocket.  And  Mrs. 
Clowes,  all  dithering  like  a  jelly,  heard  shots.  The 
horse  started  into  a  gallop.  The  reins  escaped  from 
the  hands  of  the  mistress,  but  Jock  secured  them,  and 


JOCK-AT-A-VENTURE  8 1 

lashed  the  horse  to  greater  speed  with  the  loose  ends 
of  them. 

"  I've  saved  thee,  missis  1  "  he  said,  later.  "  I 
give  him  a  regular  lifter  under  the  gob,  same  as  I  give 
Jabez,  Sunday.  But  where's  the  sense  of  a  lone 
woman  wandering  about  dark  roads  of  a  night  wi'  a 
pack  o'  childer?  .  .  .  Them  childer  'ud  ha' 
slept  through  th'  battle  o1  Trafalgar,"  he  added. 

Mrs.  Clowes  wept. 

"  Well  may  you  say  it !  "  she  murmured.  "  And 
it's  not  the  first  time  as  I've  been  set  on !  " 

"  Thou'rt  nowt  but  a  girl,  for  all  thy  flesh,  and  thy 
grandchilder !  "  said  Jock.  "  Dry  thy  eyes,  or  I'll 
dry  'em  for  thee !  " 

She  smiled  in  her  weeping.  It  was  an  invitation 
to  him  to  carry  out  his  threat. 

And  while  he  was  drying  her  eyes  for  her,  she 
asked : 

"How  far  are  ye  going?     Axe?" 

"  Ay !  And  beyond !  Can  I  act,  I  ask  ye  ?  Can 
I  fight,  I  ask  ye?  Can  ye  do  without  me,  I  ask  ye, 
you  a  lone  woman?  And  yer  soul,  as  is  mine  to 
save?" 

"  But  that  business  o'  yours  at  Bursley?  " 

"  Here's  my  bundle,"  he  said.  "  And  here's  my 
best  hat.  I've  money  and  a  pistol  in  my  pocket. 
The  only  thing  I've  clean  forgot  is  my  cornet;  but  I'll 
send  for  it  and  I'll  play  it  at  my  wedding.  I'm  Jock- 
at-a-Venture." 

And  while  the  van  was  rumbling  in  the  dark  night 
across  the  waste  and  savage  moorland,  and  while  the 


B'2     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

children  were  sleeping  hard  at  the  back  of  the  van, 
and  while  the  crockery  was  restlessly  clinking  in  the 
racks  and  the  lamps  swaying,  and  while  he  held  the 
reins,  the  thin,  lithe,  greying  man  contrived  to  take 
into  his  arms  the  vast  and  amiable  creature  whom  he 
desired.  And  the  van  became  a  vehicle  of  high  ro- 
mance. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE 


IT  was  in  the  train  that  I  learnt  of  his  death.  Al- 
though a  very  greedy  eater  of  literature,  I  can 
only  enjoy  reading  when  I  have  little  time  for 
reading.  Give  me  three  hours  of  absolute  leisure, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  read,  and  I  instantly  become 
almost  incapable  of  the  act.  So  it  is  always  on  rail- 
way journeys,  and  so  it  was  that  evening.  I  was  in 
the  middle  of  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion  " ;  I  posi- 
tively gloated  over  it,  wondering  why  I  should  have 
allowed  a  mere  rumour  that  it  was  dull  to  prevent  me 
from  consuming  it  earlier  in  my  life.  But  do  you 
suppose  I  could  continue  with  Wordsworth  in  the 
train?  I  could  not.  I  stared  out  of  the  windows; 
I  calculated  the  speed  of  the  train  by  my  watch;  I 
thought  of  my  future  and  my  past;  I  drew  forth 
my  hopes,  examined  them,  polished  them,  and  put 
them  back  again;  I  forgave  myself  my  sins;  and 
I  dreamed  of  the  exciting  conquest  of  a  beautiful 
and  brilliant  woman  that  I  should  one  day  achieve. 
In  short,  I  did  everything  that  men  habitually  do 
under  such  circumstances.  The  Gazette  was  lying 
folded  on  the  seat  beside  me;  one  of  the  two  Lon- 
don evening  papers  that  a  man  of  taste  may  peruse 

83 


84    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

without  humiliating  himself.  How  appetizing  a 
morsel,  this  sheet  new  and  smooth  from  the  press, 
this  sheet  written  by  an  ironic,  understanding,  small 
band  of  men  for  just  a  few  thousand  persons  like 
me,  ruthlessly  scornful  of  the  big  circulations  and 
the  idols  of  the  people  1  If  the  Gazette  and  its  sole 
rival  ceased  to  appear,  I  do  believe  that  my  existence 
and  many  similar  existences  would  wear  a  different 
colour.  Could  one  dine  alone  in  Jermyn  Street  or 
Panton  Street  without  this  fine  piquant  evening  com- 
mentary on  the  gross  newspapers  of  the  morning? 
(Now  you  perceive  what  sort  of  a  man  I  am,  and  you 
guess,  rightly,  that  my  age  is  between  thirty  and 
forty.)  But  the  train  had  stopped  at  Rugby  and 
started  again,  and  more  than  half  of  my  journey 
was  accomplished,  ere  at  length  I  picked  up  the  Ga- 
zette, and  opened  it  with  the  false  calm  of  a  drunkard 
who  has  sworn  that  he  will  not  wet  his  lips  before  a 
certain  hour.  For,  well  knowing  from  experience 
that  I  should  suffer  acute  ennui  on  the  train,  I  had, 
when  buying  the  Gazette  at  Euston,  taken  oath  that  I 
would  not  even  glance  at  it  till  after  Rugby;  it  is  al- 
ways the  final  hour  of  these  railway  journeys  that  is 
the  nethermost  hell. 

The  second  thing  that  I  saw  in  the  Gazette  (the 
first  was  of  course  the  "  Entremets  "  column  of  wit, 
humour  and  parody,  very  uneven  in  its  excellence), 
was  the  death  of  Simon  Fuge.  There  was  nearly 
a  column  about  it,  signed  with  initials,  and  the  sub- 
heading of  the  article  ran,  "  Sudden  death  of  a  great 
painter."  That  was  characteristic  of  the  Gazette. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       85 

That  Simon  Fuge  was  indeed  a  great  painter  is  now 
admitted  by  most  dilettants,  though  denied  by  a  few. 
But  to  the  great  public  he  was  not  one  of  the  great 
names.  To  the  great  public  he  was  just  a  medium 
name.  Ten  to  one  that  in  speaking  of  him  to  a  plain 
person  you  would  feel  compelled  to  add:  "The 
painter,  you  know,"  and  the  plain  person  would 
respond:  "  Oh  yes,"  falsely  pretending  that  he  was 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  name.  Simon  Fuge  had 
many  friends  on  the  press,  and  it  was  solely  owing  to 
the  loyalty  of  these  friends  in  the  matter  of  obituary 
notices  that  the  great  public  heard  more  of  Simon 
Fuge  in  the  week  after  his  death  than  it  had  heard  of 
him  during  the  thirty-five  years  of  his  life.  It  may 
be  asked:  Why,  if  he  had  so  many  and  such  loyal 
friends  on  the  press,  these  friends  did  not  take  meas- 
ures to  establish  his  reputation  before  he  died?  The 
answer  is  that  editors  will  not  allow  journalists  to 
praise  a  living  artist  much  in  excess  of  the  esteem  in 
which  the  public  holds  him;  they  are  timid.  But 
when  a  misunderstood  artist  is  dead  the  editors  will 
put  no  limit  on  laudation.  I  am  not  on  the  press,  but 
it  happens  that  I  know  that  world. 

Of  all  the  obituary  notices  of  Simon  Fuge,  the  Ga- 
zette's was  the  first.  Somehow  the  Gazette  had  ob- 
tained exclusive  news  of  the  little  event,  and  some 
one  high  up  on  the  Gazette's  staff  had  a  very  exalted 
notion  indeed  of  Fuge,  and  must  have  known  him 
personally.  Fuge  received  his  deserts  as  a  painter  in 
that  column  of  print.  He  was  compared  to  Sorolla 
y  Bastida  for  vitality;  the  morbidezza  of  his  flesh- 


86     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tints  was  stated  to  be  unrivalled  even  by  —  I  forget 
the  name,  painting  is  not  my  specialty.  The  writer 
blandly  enquired  why  examples  of  Fuge's  work  were 
to  be  seen  in  the  Luxembourg,  at  Vienna,  at  Florence, 
at  Dresden;  and  not,  for  instance,  at  the 
Tate  Gallery,  or  in  the  Chantrey  collection.  The 
writer  also  enquired,  with  equal  blandness,  why  a 
painter  who  had  been  on  the  hanging  committee  of  the 
Societe  Nationale  des  Beaux  Arts  at  Paris  should 
not  have  been  found  worthy  to  be  even  an  A.R.A. 
in  London.  In  brief,  old  England  "  caught  it,"  as 
occurred  somewhere  or  other  most  nights  in  the  col- 
umns of  the  Gazette.  Fuge  also  received  his  deserts 
as  a  man.  And  the  Gazette  did  not  conceal  that  he 
had  not  been  a  man  after  the  heart  of  the  British  pub- 
lic. He  had  been  too  romantically  and  intensely 
alive  for  that.  The  writer  gave  a  little  pen-portrait 
of  him.  It  was  very  good,  recalling  his  tricks  of 
manner,  his  unforgettable  eyes,  and  his  amazing 
skill  in  talking  about  himself  and  really  interesting 
everybody  in  himself.  There  was  a  special  refer- 
ence to  one  of  Fuge's  most  dramatic  recitals  —  a 
narration  of  a  night  spent  in  a  boat  on  Ham  Lake 
with  two  beautiful  girls,  sisters,  natives  of  the  Five 
Towns,  where  Fuge  was  born.  Said  the  obituarist: 
"  Those  two  wonderful  creatures  who  played  so 
large  a  part  in  Simon  Fuge's  life." 

This  death  was  a  shock  to  me.  It  took  away  my 
ennui  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  I  too  had  known 
Simon  Fuge.  That  is  to  say,  I  had  met  him  once, 
at  a  soiree  and  on  that  single  occasion,  as  luck  had 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       87 

it,  he  had  favoured  the  company  with  the  very  nar- 
ration to  which  the  Gazette  contributor  referred.  I 
remembered  well  the  burning  brilliance  of  his  blue- 
black  eyes,  his  touching  assurance  that  all  of  us  were 
necessarily  interested  in  his  adventures,  and  the  ex- 
tremely graphic  and  convincing  way  in  which  he 
reconstituted  for  us  the  nocturnal  scene  on  Ham  Lake 

—  the  two  sisters,  the  boat,  the  rustle  of  trees,  the 
lights  on  shore,  and  his  own  difficulty  in  managing 
the  oars,  one  of  which  he  lost  for  half-an-hour  and 
found  again.     It  was  by  such  details  as  that  about 
the  oar  that,  with  a  tint  of  humour,  he  added  realism 
to  the  romantic  quality  of  his  tales.     He  seemed  to 
have  no  reticences  concerning  himself.     Decidedly 
he  allowed  things  to  be  understood.     .     .     .     Yes, 
his  was  a  romantic  figure,  the  figure  of  one  to  whom 
every  day,  and  every  hour  of  the  day,  was  coloured 
by  the  violence  of  his  passion   for  existence.     His 
pictures  had  often  an  unearthly  beauty,  but  for  him 
they  were  nothing  but  faithful  renderings  of  what 
he  saw. 

My  mind  dwelt  on  those  two  beautiful  sisters. 
Those  two  beautiful  sisters  appealed  to  me  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  Gazette's  obituary.  Surely  —  Si- 
mon Fuge  had  obviously  been  a  man  whose  emo- 
tional susceptibility  and  virile  impulsiveness  must 
have  opened  the  door  for  him  to  multifarious  amours 

—  but  surely  he  had  not  made  himself  indispensable 
to  both  sisters  simultaneously.     Surely  even  he  had 
not  so  far  forgotten  that  Ham  Lake  was  in  the  middle 
of  a  country  called  England,  and  not  the  ornamental 


88     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

water  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne !  And  yet.  .  .  . 
The  delicious  possibility  of  ineffable  indiscretions  on 
the  part  of  Simon  Fuge  monopolised  my  mind  till 
the  train  stopped  at  Knype,  and  I  descended.  Never- 
theless, I  think  I  am  a  serious  and  fairly  insular 
Englishman.  It  is  truly  astonishing  how  a  serious 
person  can  be  obsessed  by  trifles  that,  to  speak  mildly, 
do  not  merit  sustained  attention. 

I  wondered  where  Ham  Lake  was.  I  knew 
merely  that  it  lay  somewhere  in  the  environs  of  the 
Five  Towns.  What  put  fuel  on  the  fire  of  my  inter- 
est in  the  private  affairs  of  the  dead  painter  was  the 
slightly  curious  coincidence  that  on  the  evening  of 
the  news  of  his  death,  I  should  be  travelling  to  the 
Five  Towns  —  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 
Here  I  was  at  Knype,  which,  as  I  had  gathered  from 
Bradshaw,  and  from  my  acquaintance  Brindley,  was 
the  traffic  centre  of  the  Five  Towns. 

II 

My  knowledge  of  industrial  districts  amounted  to 
nothing.  Born  in  Devonshire,  educated  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  fulfilling  my  destiny  as  curator  of  a  cer- 
tain department  of  antiquities  at  the  British  Museum, 
I  had  never  been  brought  into  contact  with  the  vast 
constructive  material  activities  of  Lancashire,  York- 
shire and  Staffordshire.  I  had  but  passed  through 
them  occasionally  on  my  way  to  Scotland,  scorning 
their  necessary  grime  with  the  perhaps  too  facile  dis- 
dain of  the  clean-faced  southerner,  who  is  apt  to  for- 
get that  coal  cannot  walk  up  unaided  out  of  the  mine, 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       89 

and  that  the  basin  which  he  washes  his  beautiful 
purity  can  only  be  manufactured  amid  conditions 
highly  repellent.  Well,  my  impressions  of  the  plat- 
form of  Knype  station  were  unfavourable.  There 
was  dirt  in  the  air ;  I  could  feel  it  at  once  on  my  skin. 
And  the  scene  was  shabby,  undignified,  and  rude.  I 
use  the  word  "  rude  "  in  all  its  senses.  What  I  saw 
was  a  pushing,  exclamatory,  ill-dressed,  determined 
crowd,  each  member  of  which  was  bent  on  the  reali- 
sation of  his  own  desires  by  the  least  ceremonious 
means.  If  an  item  of  this  throng  wished  to  get  past 
me,  he  made  me  instantly  aware  of  his  wish  by 
abruptly  changing  my  position  in  infinite  space;  it 
was  not  possible  to  misconstrue  his  meaning.  So 
much  crude  force  and  naked  will-to-live  I  had  not 
before  set  eyes  on.  In  truth,  I  felt  myself  to  be  a 
very  brittle,  delicate  bit  of  intellectual  machinery  in 
the  midst  of  all  these  physical  manifestations.  Yet 
I  am  a  tallish  man,  and  these  potters  appeared  to 
me  to  be  undersized,  and  somewhat  thin  too!  But 
what  elbows!  What  glaring  egoistic  eyes!  What 
terrible  decisiveness  in  action! 

"Now  then,  get  in  if  ye're  going!  "  said  a  red- 
haired  porter  to  me  curtly. 

11  I'm  not  going.     I've  just  got  out,"  I  replied. 

;(  Well,  then,  why  dunna'  ye  stand  out  o'  th'  wee 
and  let  them  get  in  as  wants  to  ?  " 

Unable  to  offer  a  coherent  answer  to  this  crushing 
demand,  I  stood  out  of  the  way.  In  the  light  of 
further  knowledge  I  now  surmise  that  that  porter 
was  a  very  friendly  and  sociable  porter.  But  at  the 


90     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

moment  I  really  believed  that,  taking  me  for  the 
least  admirable  and  necessary  of  God's  creatures,  he 
meant  to  convey  his  opinion  to  me  for  my  own  good. 
I  glanced  up  at  the  lighted  windows  of  the  train, 
and  saw  the  composed,  careless  faces  of  haughty  per- 
sons who  were  going  direct  from  London  to  Man- 
chester, and  to  whom  the  Five  Towns  was  nothing 
but  a  delay.  I  envied  them.  I  wanted  to  return  to 
the  shelter  of  the  train.  When  it  left,  I  fancied  that 
my  last  link  with  civilisation  was  broken.  Then  an- 
other train  puffed  in,  and  it  was  simply  taken  by  as- 
sault in  a  fraction  of  time,  to  an  incomprehensible 
bawling  of  friendly  sociable  porters.  Season-ticket 
holders  at  Finsbury  Park  think  they  know  how  to 
possess  themselves  of  a  train;  they  are  deceived.  So 
this  is  where  Simon  Fuge  came  from  (I  reflected)  ! 
The  devil  it  is  (I  reflected)  !  I  tried  to  conceive 
what  the  invaders  of  the  train  would  exclaim  if  con- 
fronted by  one  of  Simon  Fuge's  pictures.  I  could 
imagine  only  one  word,  and  that  a  monosyllable, 
that  would  meet  the  case  of  their  sentiments.  And 
his  dalliance,  his  tangential  nocturnal  deviations  in 
gondolas  with  exquisite  twin  odalisques !  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  much  room  for  amorous  elegance  in 
the  lives  of  these  invaders.  And  his  death !  What 
would  they  say  of  his  death?  Upon  my  soul,  as  I 
stood  on  that  dirty  platform,  in  a  milieu  of  adver- 
tisements of  soap,  boots,  and  aperients,  I  began  to 
believe  that  Simon  Fuge  never  had  lived,  that  he  was 
a  mere  illusion  of  his  friends  and  his  small  public. 
All  that  I  saw  around  me  was  a  violent  negation  of 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       91 

Simon  Fuge,  that  entity  of  rare,  fine,  exotic  sensi- 
bilities, that  perfectly  mad  gourmet  of  sensations, 
that  exotic  seer  of  beauty. 

I  caught  sight  of  my  acquaintance  and  host,  Mr. 
Robert  Brindley,  coming  towards  me  on  the  plat- 
form. Hitherto  I  had  only  met  him  in  London, 
when,  as  chairman  of  the  committee  of  management 
of  the  Wedgwood  Institution  and  School  of  Art  at 
Bursley,  he  had  called  on  me  at  the  British  Museum 
for  advice  as  to  loan  exhibits.  He  was  then  dressed 
like  a  self-respecting  tourist.  Now,  although  an 
architect  by  profession,  he  appeared  to  be  anxious  to 
be  mistaken  for  a  sporting  squire.  He  wore  very 
baggy  knickerbockers,  and  leggings,  and  a  cap. 
This  raiment  was  apparently  the  agreed  uniform  of 
the  easy  classes  in  the  Five  Towns ;  for  in  the  crowd 
I  had  noticed  several  such  consciously  superior  fig- 
ures among  the  artisans.  Mr.  Brindley,  like  most 
of  the  people  in  the  station,  had  a  slightly  pinched 
and  chilled  air,  as  though  that  morning  he  had  by 
inadvertence  omitted  to  don  those  garments  which 
are  not  seen.  He  also,  like  most  of  the  people  there, 
but  not  to  the  same  extent,  had  a  somewhat  suspicious 
and  narrowly  shrewd  regard,  as  who  should  say: 
"  If  any  person  thinks  he  can  get  the  better  of  me 
by  a  trick,  let  him  try  —  that's  all."  But  the  mo- 
ment his  eye  encountered  mine,  this  expression  van- 
ished from  his  face,  and  he  gave  me  a  candid  smile. 

"  I  hope  you're  well,"  he  said  gravely,  squeezing 
my  hand  in  a  sort  of  vice  that  he  carried  at  the  end 
of  his  right  arm. 


92     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

I  reassured  him. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  in  response  to  the 
expression  of  my  hopes. 

It  was  a  relief  to  me  to  see  him.  He  took  charge 
of  me.  I  felt,  as  it  were,  safe  in  his  arms.  I  per- 
ceived that,  unaided  and  unprotected,  I  should  never 
have  succeeded  in  reaching  Bursley  from  Knype. 

A  whistle  sounded. 

"  Better  get  in,"  he  suggested;  and  then  in  a  tone 
of  absolute  command:  "  Give  me  your  bag." 

I  obeyed.  He  opened  the  door  of  a  first-class 
carriage. 

"  I'm  travelling  second,"  I  explained. 

"  Never  mind.     Get  in" 

In  his  tones  was  a  kindly  exasperation. 

I  got  in;  he  followed.     The  train  moved. 

"  Ah  I  "  breathed  Mr.  Brindley,  blowing  out  much 
air  and  falling  like  a  sack  of  coal  into  a  corner  seat. 
He  was  a  thin  man,  aged  about  thirty,  with  brown 
eyes,  and  a  short  blonde  beard. 

Conversation  was  at  first  difficult.  Personally  I 
am  not  a  bubbling  fount  of  gay  nothings  when  I 
find  myself  alone  with  a  comparative  stranger.  My 
drawbridge  goes  up  as  if  by  magic,  my  postern  is 
closed,  and  I  peer  cautiously  through  the  narrow 
slits  of  my  turret  to  estimate  the  chances  of  peril. 
Nor  was  Mr.  Brindley  offensively  affable.  How- 
ever, we  struggled  into  a  kind  of  chatter.  I  had 
come  to  the  Five  Towns,  on  behalf  of  the  British 
Museum,  to  inspect  and  appraise,  with  a  view  to 
purchase  by  the  nation,  some  huge  slip-decorated 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       93 

dishes,  excessively  curious  according  to  photographs, 
which  had  been  discovered  in  the  cellars  of 
the  Conservative  Club  at  Bursley.  Having  shared 
'in  the  negotiations  for  my  visit,  Mr.  Brindley 
had  invited  me  to  spend  the  night  at  his  house. 
We  were  able  to  talk  about  all  this.  And 
when  we  had  talked  about  all  this  we  were  able  to 
talk  about  the  singular  scenery  of  coal-dust,  pot- 
sherds, flame  and  steam,  through  which  the  train 
wound  its  way.  It  was  squalid  ugliness,  but  it  was 
squalid  ugliness  on  a  scale  so  vast  and  overpowering 
that  it  became  sublime.  Great  furnaces  gleamed  red 
in  the  twilight,  and  their  fires  were  reflected  in  horri- 
ble black  canals;  processions  of  heavy  vapour  drifted 
in  all  directions  across  the  sky,  over  what  acres  of 
mean  and  miserable  brown  architecture  1  The  air 
was  alive  with  the  most  extraordinary,  weird,  gigan- 
tic sounds.  I  do  not  think  the  Five  Towns  will  ever 
be  described:  Dante  lived  too  soon.  As  for  the 
erratic  and  exquisite  genius,  Simon  Fuge,  and  his 
odalisques  reclining  on  silken  cushions  on  the  en- 
chanted bosom  of  a  lake  —  I  could  no  longer  conjure 
them  up  faintly  in  my  mind. 

"I  suppose  you  know  Simon  Fuge  is  dead?"  I 
remarked,  in  a  pause. 

"  No !  Is  he?  "  said  Mr.  Brindley,  with  interest. 
"  Is  it  in  the  paper?  " 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  sure  that  it  would  be 
in  the  paper. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  I,  and  I  passed  him  the  Gazette. 

"  Ha !  "  he  exclaimed  explosively.     This  "  Ha !  " 


94    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

was  entirely  different  from  his  "  Ah  1  "  Something 
shot  across  his  eyes,  something  incredibly  rapid  — 
too  rapid  for  a  wink;  yet  it  could  only  be  called  a 
wink.  It  was  the  most  subtle  transmission  of  the 
beyond-speech  that  I  have  ever  known  any  man  ac- 
complish, and  it  endeared  Mr.  Brindley  to  me.  But 
I  knew  not  its  significance. 

"What  do  they  think  of  Fuge  down  here?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  don't  expect  they  think  of  him,"  said  my  host. 

He  pulled  a  pouch  and  a  packet  of  cigarette  papers 
from  his  pocket. 

"  Have  one  of  mine,"  I  suggested,  hastily  pro- 
ducing my  case. 

He  did  not  even  glance  at  its  contents. 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  said  curtly. 

I  named  my  brand. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  return  of  his  kindly 
exasperation,  "  no  cigarette  that  is  not  fresh  made 
can  be  called  a  cigarette."  I  stood  corrected.  '  You 
may  pay  as  much  as  you  like,  but  you  can  never  buy 
cigarettes  as  good  as  I  can  make  out  of  an  ounce  of 
fresh  B.D.V.  tobacco.  Can  you  roll  one?"  I  had 
to  admit  that  I  could  not,  I  who  in  Bloomsbury  was 
accepted  as  an  authority  on  cigarettes  as  well  as  on 
porcelain.  "  I'll  roll  you  one,  and  you  shall  try  it." 

He  did  so. 

I  gathered  from  his  solemnity  that  cigarettes 
counted  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Brindley.  He  could  not 
take  cigarettes  other  than  seriously.  The  worst  of  it 
was  that  he  was  quite  right.  The  cigarette  which  he 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       95 

constructed  for  me  out  of  his  wretched  B.D.V. -to- 
bacco was  adorable,  and  I  have  made  my  own  ciga- 
rettes ever  since.  You  will  find  B.D.V.  tobacco  all 
over  the  haunts  frequented  by  us  of  the  Museum  now- 
a-days,  solely  owing  to  the  expertise  of  Mr.  Brindley. 
A  terribly  capable  and  positive  man !  He  knew, 
and  he  knew  that  he  knew. 

He  said  nothing  further  as  to  Simon  Fuge.  Ap- 
parently he  had  forgotten  the  decease. 

"  Do  you  often  see  the  Gazette? "  I  asked,  per- 
haps in  the  hope  of  attracting  him  back  to  Fuge. 

"  No,"  he  said;  "  the  musical  criticism  is  too 
rotten." 

Involuntarily  I  bridled.  It  was  startling,  and  it 
was  not  agreeable,  to  have  one's  favourite  organ  so 
abruptly  condemned  by  a  provincial  architect  in 
knickerbockers  and  a  cap,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  in- 
dustrial ugliness.  What  could  the  Five  Towns  know 
about  art?  Yet  here  was  this  fellow  condemning  the 
Gazette  on  artistic  grounds.  I  offered  no  defence, 
because  he  was  right  —  again.  But  I  did  not  like  it. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  the  Manchester  Guardian?  "  he 
questioned,  carrying  the  war  into  my  camp. 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  Pity!  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  I've  often  heard  that  it's  a  very  good  paper,"  I 
said  politely. 

"  It  isn't  a  very  good  paper,"  he  laid  me  low. 
"  It's  the  best  paper  in  the  world.  Try  it  for  a 
month  —  it  gets  to  Euston  at  half-past  eight  —  and 
then  tell  me  what  you  think." 


96     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

I  saw  that  I  must  pull  myself  together.  I  had 
glided  into  the  Five  Towns  in  a  mood  of  gentle,  wise 
condescension.  I  saw  that  it  would  be  as  well,  for 
my  own  honour  and  safety,  to  put  on  another  mood 
as  quickly  as  possible,  otherwise  I  might  be  left  for 
dead  on  the  field.  Certainly  the  fellow  was  pro- 
vincial, curt,  even  brutal  in  his  despisal  of  diplomacy. 
Certainly  he  exaggerated  the  importance  of  ciga- 
rettes in  the  great  secular  scheme  of  evolution.  But 
he  was  a  man ;  he  was  a  very  tonic  dose.  I  thought 
it  would  be  safer  to  assume  that  he  knew  everything, 
and  that  the  British  Museum  knew  very  little.  Yet 
at  the  British  Museum  he  had  been  quite  different, 
quite  deferential  and  rather  timid.  Still,  I  liked  him. 
I  liked  his  eyes. 

The  train  stopped  at  an  incredible  station  situated 
in  the  centre  of  a  rolling  desert  whose  surface  con- 
sisted of  broken  pots  and  cinders.  I  expect  no  one 
to  believe  this. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  he  blithely.  "  No,  give  me 
the  bag.  Porter !  " 

His  summons  to  the  solitary  porter  was  like  a  clap 
of  thunder. 

Ill 

He  lived  in  a  low,  blackish-crimson  heavy-browed 
house  at  the  corner  of  a  street  along  which  electric 
cars  were  continually  thundering.  There  was  a  thin 
cream  of  mud  on  the  pavements  and  about  two 
inches  of  mud  in  the  roadway,  rich,  nourishing  mud 
like  India  ink  half-mixed.  The  prospect  of  carrying 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       97 

a  pound  or  so  of  that  unique  mud  into  a  civilised 
house  affrighted  me,  but  Mr.  Brindley  opened  his 
door  with  his  latchkey  and  entered  the  abode  as  un- 
concernedly as  if  some  fair  repentant  had  cleansed 
his  feet  with  her  tresses. 

"  Don't  worry  too  much  about  the  dirt,"  he  said. 
"  You're  in  Bursley." 

The  house  seemed  much  larger  inside  than  out. 
A  gas-jet  burnt  in  the  hall,  and  sombre  portieres 
gave  large  mysterious  hints  of  rooms.  I  could  hear, 
in  the  distance,  the  noise  of  frizzling  over  a  fire,  and 
of  a  child  crying.  Then  a  tall,  straight,  well-made, 
energetic  woman  appeared  like  a  conjuring  trick  from 
behind  a  portiere. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Loring?  "  she  greeted  me, 
smiling.  "  So  glad  to  meet  you." 

"  My  wife,"  Mr.  Brindley  explained  gravely. 

"  Now,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now,  Bob,"  said  she, 
still  smiling  at  me.  "  Bobbie's  got  a  sore  throat  and 
it  may  be  mumps;  the  chimney's  been  on  fire  and 
we're  going  to  be  summoned;  and  you  owe  me  six- 
pence." 

''  Why  do  I  owe  you  sixpence?  " 

"  Because  Annie's  had  her  baby  and  it's  a  girl." 

"  That's  all  right.     Supper  ready?  " 

"  Supper  is  waiting  for  you." 

She  laughed.  "  Whenever  I  have  anything  to  tell 
my  husband,  I  always  tell  him  at  once!  "  she  said. 
"  No  matter  who's  there."  She  pronounced  "  once  " 
with  a  whole-hearted  enthusiasm  for  its  vowel  sound 
that  I  have  never  heard  equalled  elsewhere,  and  also 


98     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

with  a  very  magnified  "  w  "  at  the  beginning  of  it. 
Often  when  I  hear  the  word  "  once  "  pronounced  in 
less  downright  parts  of  the  world,  I  remember  how 
they  pronounce  it  in  the  Five  Towns,  and  there  rises 
up  before  me  a  complete  picture  of  the  district,  its 
atmosphere,  its  spirit. 

Mr.  Brindley  led  me  to  a  large  bathroom  that  had 
a  faint  odour  of  warm  linen.  In  addition  to  a  lot  of 
assorted  white  baby-clothes  there  were  millions  of 
towels  in  that  bathroom.  He  turned  on  a  tap  and 
the  place  was  instantly  full  of  steam  from  a  jet  of 
boiling  water. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  "  you  can  start." 

As  he  showed  no  intention  of  leaving  me,  I  did 
start.  "  Mind  you  don't  scald  yourself,"  he  warned 
me,  "  that  water's  hot"  While  I  was  washing,  he 
prepared  to  wash.  I  suddenly  felt  as  if  I  had  been 
intimate  with  him  and  his  wife  for  about  ten  years. 

"  So  this  is  Bursley !  "  I  murmured,  taking  my 
mouth  out  of  a  towel. 

"  Bosley,  we  call  it,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  know  the 
limerick  — '  There  was  a  young  woman  of  Bosley  '  ?  " 

"  No." 

He  intoned  the  local  limerick.  It  was  excellently 
good;  not  meet  for  a  mixed  company,  but  a  genuine 
delight  to  the  true  amateur.  One  good  limerick  de- 
serves another.  It  happened  that  I  knew  a  number 
of  the  unprinted  Rossetti  limericks,  precious  things, 
not  at  all  easy  to  get  at.  I  detailed  them  to  Mr. 
Brindley,  and  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that 
I  impressed  him.  I  recovered  all  the  ground  I  had 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE       99 

lost  upon  cigarettes  and  newspapers.  He  appreci- 
ated those  limericks  with  a  juster  taste  than  I  should 
have  expected.  So,  afterwards,  did  his  friends. 
My  belief  is  that  I  am  to  this  day  known  and  re- 
vered in  Bursley,  not  as  Loring  the  porcelain  expert 
from  the  British  Museum,  but  as  the  man  who  first, 
as  it  were,  brought  the  good  news  of  the  Rossetti 
limericks  from  Ghent  to  Aix. 

"  Now,  Bob,"  an  amicable  voice  shrieked  femi- 
ninely up  from  the  ground-floor,  "  am  I  to  send  the 
soup  up  to  the  bathroom  or  are  you  coming  down  ?  " 

A  limerick  will  make  a  man  forget  even  his  din- 
ner. 

Mr.  Brindley  performed  once  more  with  his  eyes 
that  something  that  was,  not  a  wink,  but  a  wink 
unutterably  refined  and  spiritualised.  This  time  I 
comprehended  its  import.  Its  import  was  to  the 
effect  that  women  are  women. 

We  descended,  Mr.  Brindley  still  in  his  knicker- 
bockers. 

"  This  way,"  he  said,  drawing  aside  a  portiere. 
Mrs.  Brindley,  as  we  entered  the  room,  was  trotting 
a  male  infant  round  and  round  a  table  charged  with 
everything  digestible  and  indigestible.  She  handed 
the  child,  who  was  in  its  nightdress,  to  a  maid. 

"  Say  good-night  to   father." 

"  Good-ni',  faver,"  the  interesting  creature  piped. 

"  By-bye,  sonny,"  said  the  father,  stooping  to 
tickle.  "  I  suppose,"  he  added,  when  maid  and  in- 
fant had  gone,  "  if  one's  going  to  have  mumps,  they 
may  as  well  all  have  it  together." 


ioo    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  the  mother  agreed  cheerfully. 
"  I  shall  stick  them  all  into  a  room." 

"  How  many  children  have  you?  "  I  inquired  with 
polite  curiosity. 

"  Three,"  she  said;  "  that's  the  eldest  that  you've 
seen." 

What  chiefly  struck  me  about  Mrs.  Brindley  was 
her  serene  air  of  capableness,  of  having  a  self-con- 
fidence which  experience  had  richly  justified.  I 
could  see  that  she  must  be  an  extremely  sensible 
mother.  And  yet  she  had  quite  another  aspect  too 
—  how  shall  I  explain  it  —  as  though  she  had  only 
had  children  in  her  spare  time. 

We  sat  down.  The  room  was  lighted  by  four 
candles  on  the  table.  I  am  rather  short-sighted, 
and  so  I  did  not  immediately  notice  that  there  were 
low  book-cases  all  round  the  walls.  Why  the  pres- 
ence of  these  book-cases  should  have  caused  me  a  cer- 
tain astonishment  I  do  not  know,  but  it  did.  I 
thought  of  Knype  station,  and  the  scenery,  and  then 
the  other  little  station,  and  the  desert  of  pots  and 
cinders,  and  the  mud  in  the  road  and  on  the  pave- 
ment and  in  the  hall,  and  the  baby-linen  in  the  bath- 
room, and  three  children  all  down  with  mumps,  and 
Mr.  Brindley's  cap  and  knickerbockers  and  ciga- 
rettes ;  and  somehow  the  books  —  I  soon  saw  there 
were  at  least  a  thousand  of  them,  and  not  circulating- 
library  books,  either,  but  books  —  well,  they  ad- 
ministered a  little  shock  to  me. 

To  Mr.  Brindley's  right  hand  was  a  bottle  of  Bass 
and  a  corkscrew. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      101 

"  Beer !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  solemn  ecstasy,  with 
an  ecstasy  gross  and  luscious.  And,  drawing  the 
cork,  he  poured  out  a  glass,  with  fine  skill  in  the 
management  of  froth,  and  pushed  it  towards  me. 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  said. 

"  No  beer!  "  he  murmured,  with  benevolent,  puz- 
zled disdain.  "Whisky?" 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  said.     "  Water." 

"/  know  what  Mr,  Loring  would  like,"  said 
Mrs.  Brindley,  jumping  up.  "  I  know  what  Mr. 
Loring  would  like."  She  opened  a  cupboard  and 
came  back  to  the  table  with  a  bottle,  which  she 
planted  in  front  of  me.  "  Wouldn't  you,  Mr.  Lor- 
ing?" 

It  was  a  bottle  of  mercurey,  a  wine  which  has 
given  me  many  dreadful  dawns,  but  which  I  have 
never  known  how  to  refuse. 

"I  should,"  I  admitted;  "but  it's  very  bad  for 
me." 

"Nonsense!  "  said  she.  She  looked  at  her  hus- 
band in  triumph. 

"Beer!"  repeated  Mr.  Brindley  with  undimin- 
ished  ecstasy,  and  drank  about  two-thirds  of  a  glass 
at  one  try.  Then  he  wiped  the  froth  from  his  mous- 
tache. "Ah!"  he  breathed  low  and  soft. 
"Beer!" 

They  called  the  meal  supper.  The  term  is  inad- 
equate. No  term  that  I  could  think  of  would  be 
adequate.  Of  its  kind  the  thing  was  perfect.  Mrs. 
Brindley  knew  that  it  was  perfect.  Mr.  Brindley 
also  knew  that  it  was  perfect.  There  were  prawns 


102     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

in  aspic.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  single  out  that 
dish,  except  that  it  seemed  strange  to  me  to  have 
crossed  the  desert  of  pots  and  cinders  in  order  to 
encounter  prawns  in  aspic.  Mr.  Brindley  ate  more 
cold  roast  beef  than  I  had  ever  seen  any  man  eat 
before,  and  more  pickled  walnuts.  It  is  true  that 
the  cold  roast  beef  transcended  all  the  cold  roast  beef 
of  my  experience.  Mrs.  Brindley  regaled  herself 
largely  on  trifle,  which  Mr.  Brindley  would  not  ap- 
proach, preferring  a  most  glorious  Stilton  cheese. 
I  lost  touch,  temporarily,  with  the  intellectual  life. 
It  was  Mr.  Brindley  who  recalled  me  to  it. 

"  Jane,"  he  said.  (This  was  at  the  beef  and 
pickles  stage.) 

No  answer. 

"Jane!" 

Mrs.  Brindley  turned  to  me.  "  My  name  is  not 
Jane,"  she  said,  laughing,  and  making  a  move  si- 
multaneously. "  He  only  calls  me  that  to  annoy 
me.  I  told  him  I  wouldn't  answer  to  it,  and  I  won't. 
He  thinks  I  shall  give  in  because  we've  got  '  com- 
pany '  I  But  I  won't  treat  you  as  '  company,'  Mr. 
Loring,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  take  my  side. 
What  dreadful  weather  we're  having,  aren't  we?" 

"  Dreadful !  "     I  joined  in  the  game. 

"Jane!" 

"Did  you  have  a  comfortable  journey  down?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"Well,  then,  Mary!"  Mr.   Brindley  yielded. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Loring,  for  your 
kind  assistance,"  said  his  wife.  "Yes,  dearest?" 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      103 

Mr.  Brindley  glanced  at  me  over  his  second  glass 
of  beer. 

"  If  those  confounded  kids  are  going  to  have 
mumps,"  he  addressed  his  words  apparently  into  the 
interior  of  the  glass,  "  it  probably  means  the  doctor, 
and  the  doctor  means  money,  and  I  shan't  be  able  to 
afford  the  Hortulus  Anima." 

I  opened  my  ears. 

"  My  husband  goes  stark  staring  mad  some- 
times," said  Mrs.  Brindley  to  me.  "  It  lasts  for  a 
week  or  so,  and  pretty  nearly  lands  us  in  the  work- 
house. This  time  it's  the  Hortulus  Anima.  Do 
you  know  what  it  is?  I  don't." 

"  No,"  I  said,  and  the  prestige  of  the  British  Mu- 
seum trembled.  Then  I  had  a  vague  recollection. 
'  There's  an  illuminated  manuscript  of  that  name 
in  the  Imperial  Library  of  Vienna,  isn't  there?" 

"  You've  got  it  in  once,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 
14  Wife,  pass  those  walnuts." 

"You  aren't  by  any  chance  buying  it?"  I 
laughed. 

41  No,"  he  said.  "  A  Johnny  at  Utrecht  is  issu- 
ing a  facsimile  of  it,  with  all  the  hundred  odd  mini- 
atures in  colour.  It  will  be  the  finest  thing  in  repro- 
duction ever  done.  Only  seventy-five  copies  for 
England." 

"How  much?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  preliminary  look  at  his 
wife,  "  thirty-three  pounds." 

"  Thirty-three  pounds!  "  she  screamed.  "  You 
never  told  me." 


io4    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  My  wife  never  will  understand,'*  said  Mr. 
Brindley,  "  that  complete  confidence  between  two 
human  beings  is  impossible." 

"  I  shall  go  out  as  a  milliner,  that's  all,"  Mrs. 
Brindley  returned.  "  Remember,  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography  isn't  paid  for  yet." 

"  I'm  glad  I  forgot  that,  otherwise  I  shouldn't 
have  ordered  the  Hortulus" 

"You've  not  ordered  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  have.  It'll  be  here  to-morrow  —  at  least 
the  first  part  will." 

Mrs.  Brindley  affected  to  fall  back  dying  in  her 
chair. 

"Quite  mad!"  she  complained  to  me.  "Quite 
mad.  It's  a  hopeless  case." 

But  obviously  she  was  very  proud  of  the  incura- 
ble lunatic. 

"  But  you're  a  book  collector !  "  I  exclaimed,  so 
struck  by  these  feats  of  extravagance  in  a  modest 
house  that  I  did  not  conceal  my  amazement. 

"  Did  you  think  I  collected  postage  stamps?  "  the 
husband  retorted.  "  No,  I'm  not  a  book  collector, 
but  our  doctor  is.  He  has  got  a  few  books,  if  you 
like.  Still,  I  wouldn't  swop  him;  he's  much  too 
fond  of  fashionable  novels." 

"  You  know  you're  always  up  at  his  place,"  said 
the  wife;  "and  I  wonder  what  /  should  do  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  doctor's  novels !  "  The  doctor  was 
evidently  a  favourite  of  hers. 

"  I'm  not  always  up  at  his  place,"  the  husband 
contradicted.  "  You  know  perfectly  well  I  never 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     105 

go  there  before  midnight.  And  he  knows  perfectly 
well  that  I  only  go  because  he  has  the  best  whisky 
in  the  town.  By  the  way,  I  wonder  whether  he 
knows  that  Simon  Fuge  is  dead.  He's  got  one  of 
his  etchings.  I'll  go  up." 

"Who's  Simon  Fuge?"  asked  Mrs.  Brindley. 

"  Don't  you  remember  old  Fuge  that  kept  the 
Blue  Bell  at  Cauldon?" 

"What?     Simple  Simon?" 

"  Yes.     Well,  his  son." 

"  Oh !  I  remember.  He  ran  away  from  home 
once,  didn't  he,  and  his  mother  had  a  port-wine 
stain  on  her  left  cheek?  Oh,  of  course.  I  remem- 
ber him  perfectly.  He  came  down  to  the  Five 
Towns  some  years  ago  for  his  aunt's  funeral.  So 
he's  dead.  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Loring." 

"Did  you  know  him?"  she  glanced  at  me. 

"  I  scarcely  knew  him,"  said  I.  "  I  saw  it  in 
the  paper." 

"What,  the  Signal?" 

"  The  Signal's  the  local  rag,"  Mr.  Brindley  inter- 
polated. "  No.  It's  in  the  Gazette" 

'*  The  Birmingham  Gazette?  " 

"  No,  bright  creature  —  the  Gazette"  said  Mr. 
Brindley. 

"  Oh !  "     She  seemed  puzzled. 

"  Didn't  you  know  he  was  a  painter?  "  the  hus- 
band condescendingly  catechised. 

"  I  knew  he  used  to  teach  at  the  Hanbridge  School 
of  Art,"  said  Mrs.  Brindley  stoutly.  "  Mother 


106     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

wouldn't  let  me  go  there  because  of  that.     Then  he 
got  the  sack." 

"  Poor  defenceless  thing!     How  old  were  you?" 

"  Seventeen,  I  expect." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  your  mother." 

"Where  did  he  die?"  Mrs.  Brindley  demanded. 

"  At  San  Remo,"  I  answered.  "  Seems  queer  him 
dying  at  San  Remo  in  September,  doesn't  it?" 

"Why?" 

"  San  Remo  is  a  winter  place.  No  one  ever  goes 
there  before  December." 

"Oh,   is   it?"    the   lady   murmured   negligently. 
'  Then  that  would  be  just  like  Simon  Fuge.     /  was 
never  afraid  of  him,"  she  added,  in  a  defiant  tone, 
and  with  a  delicious  inconsequence  that  choked  her 
husband  in  the  midst  of  a  draught  of  beer. 
*  You  can  laugh,"  she  said  sturdily. 

At  that  moment  there  was  heard  a  series  of  loud 
explosive  sounds  in  the  street.  They  continued  for 
a  few  seconds  apparently  just  outside  the  dining- 
room  window.  Then  they  stopped,  and  the  noise 
of  the  bumping  electric  cars  resumed  its  sway  over 
the  ear. 

"That's  Oliver!  "  said  Mr.  Brindley,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "  He  must  have  come  from  Manchester 
in  an  hour  and  a  half.  He's  a  terror." 

"  Glass !  Quick !  "  Mrs.  Brindley  exclaimed. 
She  sprang  to  the  sideboard  and  seized  a  tumbler, 
which  Mr.  Brindley  filled  from  a  second  bottle  of 
Bass.  When  the  door  of  the  room  opened  she  was 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      107 

standing  close  to  it,  laughing,  with  the  full,  froth- 
ing glass  in  her  hand. 

A  tall,  thin  man,  rather  younger  than  Mr.  Brind- 
ley  and  his  wife,  entered.  He  wore  a  long  dust-coat 
and  leggings,  and  he  carried  a  motorist's  cap  in  a 
great  hand.  No  one  spoke ;  but  little  puffs  of  laugh- 
ter escaped  all  Mrs.  Brindley's  efforts  to  imprison 
her  mirth.  Then  the  visitor  took  the  glass  with  a 
magnificent  broad  smile,  and  said,  in  a  rich  and  heavy 
Midland  voice  — 

"  Here's  to  moy  wife's  husband !  " 

And  drained  the  nectar. 

"Feel  better  now,  don't  you?"  Mrs.  Brindley 
inquired. 

"  Ay,  Mrs.  Bob,  I  do!  "  was  the  reply.  "  How 
do,  Bob?" 

"  How  do?  "  responded  my  host  laconically.  And 
then  with  gravity:  "  Mr.  Loring —  Mr.  Oliver  Col- 
clough  —  thinks  he  knows  something  about  music." 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Colclough, 
shaking  hands  with  me.  He  had  a  most  attractively 
candid  smile,  but  he  was  so  long  and  lanky  that  he 
seemed  to  pervade  the  room  like  an  omnipresence. 

"  Sit  down  and  have  a  bit  of  cheese,  Oliver,"  said 
Mrs.  Brindley,  as  she  herself  sat  down. 

"  No,  thanks,  Mrs.  Bob.  I  must  be  getting  to- 
wards home." 

He  leaned  on  her  chair. 

"Trifle,  then?" 

"  No,  thanks." 


io8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Machine  going  all  right?  " 

"  Like  oil.     Never  stopped  th'   engine  once." 

"  Did  you  get  the  Sinfonia  Domestica,  Ol?  "  Mr. 
Brindley  enquired. 

"  Didn't  I  say  as  I  should  get  it,  Bob?  " 

"  You  said  you  would." 

11  Well,  I've  got  it." 

"  In  Manchester?" 

"  Of  course." 

Mr.  Brindley's  face  shone  with  desire  and  Mr. 
Oliver  Colclough's  face  shone  with  triumph. 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  In  the  hall." 

"My  hall?" 

"Ay!" 

"  We'll  play  it,  Ol." 

"  No,  really  Bob !  I  can't  stop  now.  I  prom- 
ised the  wife " 

"  We'll  play  it,  Ol !  You'd  no  business  to  make 
promises.  Besides,  suppose  you'd  had  a  puncture !  " 

"  I  expect  you've  heard  Strauss's  Sinfonia  Do- 
mestica, Mr.  Loring,  up  in  the  village?  "  Mr.  Col- 
clough  addressed  me.  He  had  surrendered  to  the 
stronger  will. 

"In  London?"  I  said.  "No.  But  I've  heard 
of  it." 

"  Bob  and  I  heard  it  in  Manchester  last  week, 
and  we  thought  it  'ud  be  a  bit  of  a  lark  to  buy  the 
arrangement  for  pianoforte  duet." 

"  Come  and  listen  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 
"  That  is,  if  nobody  wants  any  more  beer." 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     109 

IV 

The  drawing-room  was  about  twice  as  large 
as  the  dining-room,  and  it  contained  about  four 
times  as  much  furniture.  Once  again  there  were 
books  all  round  the  walls.  A  grand  piano,  covered 
with  music,  stood  in  a  corner,  and  behind  was  a  cab- 
inet full  of  bound  music. 

Mr.  Brindley,  seated  on  one  corner  of  the  bench 
in  front  of  the  piano,  cut  the  leaves  of  the  Sinfonia 
Domestica. 

"  It's  the  devill  "  he  observed. 

"  Ay,  lad !  "  agreed  Mr.  Colclough,  standing  over 
him.  "  It's  difficult." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished cutting. 

"Better  take  your  dust-coat  off,  hadn't  you?" 
Mrs.  Brindley  suggested  to  the  friend.  She  and  I 
were  side  by  side  on  a  sofa  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room. 

"  I  may  as  well,"  Mr.  Colclough  admitted,  and 
threw  the  long  garment  on  to  a  chair.  "  Look 
here,  Bob,  my  hands  are  stiff  with  steering." 

"  Don't  find  fault  with  your  tools,"  said  Mr. 
Brindley;  "  and  sit  down.  No,  my  boy,  I'm  going 
to  play  the  top  part.  Shove  along." 

"  I  want  to  play  the  top  part  because  it's  easiest," 
Mr.  Colclough  grumbled. 

"  How  often  have  I  told  you  the  top  part  is  never 
easiest?  Who  do  you  suppose  is  going  to  keep 
this  symphony  together  —  you  or  me?" 

"  Sorry  I  spoke." 


no    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

They  arranged  themselves  on  the  bench,  and  Mr. 
Brindley  turned  up  the  lower  corners  of  every  alter- 
nate leaf  of  the  music. 

"Now,"  said  he.     "Ready?" 

"  Let  her  zip,"  said  Mr.  Colclough. 

They  began  to  play.  And  then  the  door  opened, 
and  a  servant,  whose  white  apron  was  starched  as 
stiff  as  cardboard,  came  in  carrying  a  tray  of  coffee 
and  unholy  liqueurs,  which  she  deposited  with  a  rat- 
tle on  a  small  table  near  the  hostess. 

"  Curse !  "  muttered  Mr.  Brindley,  and  stopped. 

"Life's  very  complex,  ain't  it,  Bob?"  Mr.  Col- 
clough murmured. 

"  Ay,  lad."  The  host  glanced  round  to  make 
sure  that  the  rattling  servant  had  entirely  gone. 
"  Now,  start  again." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  wait  a  minute !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Brindley  excitedly.  "  I'm  just  pouring  out  Mr. 
Loring's  coffee.  There !  "  As  she  handed  me  the 
cup  she  whispered,  "  We  daren't  talk.  It's  more 
than  our  place  is  worth." 

The  performance  of  the  symphony  proceeded. 
To  me,  who  am  not  a  performer,  it  sounded  exces- 
sively brilliant  and  incomprehensible.  Mr.  Col- 
clough stretched  his  right  hand  to  turn  over  the  page, 
and  fumbled  it.  Another  stoppage. 

"  Damn  you,  Ol!  "  Mr.  Brindley  exploded.  "  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  make  yourself  so  confoundedly 
busy.  Leave  the  turning  to  me.  It  takes  a  great 
artist  to  turn  over,  and  you're  only  a  blooming  chauf- 
feur. We'll  begin  again." 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      in 

"  Sackcloth !  "  Mr.  Colclough  whispered. 

I  could  not  estimate  the  length  of  the  symphony; 
but  my  impression  was  one  of  extreme  length. 
Half-way  through  it  the  players  both  took  their 
coats  off.  Then  there  was  no  other  surcease. 

"What  dost  think  of  it,  Bob?"  asked  Mr.  Col- 
clough in  the  weird  silence  that  reigned  after  they 
had  finished.  They  were  standing  up  and  putting 
on  their  coats  and  wiping  their  faces. 

"  I  think  what  I  thought  before,"  said  Mr.  Brind- 
ley.  "  It's  childish." 

"  It  isn't  childish,"  the  other  protested.  "  It's 
ugly,  but  it  isn't  childish." 

"  It's  childishly  clever,"  Mr.  Brindley  modified 
his  description.  He  did  not  ask  my  opinion. 

"  Coffee's  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Brindley. 

"  I  don't  want  any  coffee.  Give  me  some  Char- 
treuse, please.  Have  a  drop  o'  green,  Ol?" 

"  A  split  soda  'ud  be  more  in  my  line.  Besides, 
I'm  just  going  to  have  my  supper.  Never  mind,  I'll 
have  a  drop,  missis,  and  chance  it.  I've  never  tried 
Chartreuse  as  an  appetizer." 

At  this  point  commenced  a  sanguinary  conflict  of 
wills  to  settle  whether  or  not  I  also  should  indulge 
in  green  Chartreuse.  I  was  defeated.  Besides  the 
Chartreuse,  I  accepted  a  cigar.  Never  before  or 
since  have  I  been  such  a  buck. 

"  I  must  hook  it,"  said  Mr.  Colclough,  picking  up 
his  dust-coat. 

"  Not  yet  you  don't,"  said  Mr.  Brindley.  "  I've 
got  to  get  the  taste  of  that  infernal  Strauss  out  of  my 


ii2    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

mouth.  We'll  play  the  first  movement  of  the  G 
minor  ?  La-la-la  —  la-la-la  —  la-la-la-ta."  He 
whistled  a  phrase. 

Mr.  Colclough  obediently  sat  down  again  to  the 
piano. 

The  Mozart  was  like  an  idyll  after  a  farcical  mcl* 
odrama.  They  played  it  with  an  astonishing  deli- 
cacy. Through  the  latter  half  of  the  movement  I 
could  hear  Mr.  Brindley  breathing  regularly  and 
heavily  through  his  nose,  exactly  as  though  he  were 
being  hypnotised.  I  had  a  tickling  sensation  in  the 
small  of  my  back,  a  sure  sign  of  emotion  in  me. 
The  atmosphere  was  changed. 

"  What  a  heavenly  thing !  "  I  exclaimed  enthusi- 
astically, when  they  had  finished. 

Mr.  Brindley  looked  at  me  sharply,  and  just 
nodded  in  silence.  "  Well,  good-night,  Ol." 

"  I  say,"  said  Mr.  Colclough;  "  if  you've  nothing 
doing  later  on,  bring  Mr.  Loring  round  to  my  place. 
Will  you  come,  Mr.  Loring  ?  Do  1  Us'll  have  a  drink." 

These  Five  Towns  people  certainly  had  a  simple, 
sincere  way  of  offering  hospitality  that  was  quite  ir- 
resistible. One  could  see  that  hospitality  was  among 
their  chief  and  keenest  pleasures. 

We  all  went  to  the  front  door  to  see  Mr.  Col- 
clough depart  homewards  in  his  automobile.  The 
two  great  acetylene  head-lights  sent  long  glaring 
shafts  of  light  down  the  side  street.  Mr.  Colclough, 
throwing  the  score  of  the  Sinfonia  Domestica  into 
the  tonneau  of  the  immense  car,  put  on  a  pair  of 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     113 

gloves  and  began  to  circulate  round  the  machine, 
tapping  here,  screwing  there,  as  chauffeurs  will. 
Then  he  bent  down  in  front  to  start  the  engine. 

"  By  the  way,  Ol,"  Mr.  Brindley  shouted  from 
the  doorway,  "  it  seems  Simon  Fuge  is  dead." 

We  could  see  the  man's  stooping  form  between 
the  two  head-lights.  He  turned  his  head  towards 
the  house. 

"  Who  the  dagger  is  Simon  Fuge?  "  he  enquired. 
"  There's  about  five  thousand  Fuges  in  th'  Five 
Towns." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  knew  him." 

"  I  might,  and  I  mightn't.  It's  not  one  o'  them 
Fuge  brothers  saggar-makers  at  Longshaw,  is  it?" 

"No.     It's " 

Mr.  Colclough  had  succeeded  in  starting  his  en- 
gine, and  the  air  was  rent  with  gun-shots.  He 
jumped  lightly  into  the  driver's  seat. 

''  Well,  see  you  later,"  he  cried,  and  was  off,  per- 
suading the  enormous  beast  under  him  to  describe  a 
semicircle  in  the  narrow  street,  backing,  forcing  for- 
ward, and  backing  again,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  continuous  fusillade.  At  length  he  got  away, 
drew  up  within  two  feet  of  an  electric  tram  that  slid 
bumping  down  the  main  street,  and  vanished  round 
the  corner.  A  little  ragged  boy  passed,  crying, 
"  Signal,  extra,"  and  Br.  Brindley  hailed  him. 

"  What  i5  Mr.  Colclough?  "  I  asked  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  Manufacturer  —  sanitary     ware,"     said     Mr, 


U4     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Brindley.  "  He's  got  one  of  the  best  businesses  in 
Hanbridge.  I  wish  I'd  half  his  income.  Never 
buys  a  book,  you  know." 

"  He  seems  to  play  the  piano  very  well." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  he  doesn't  what  you  may  call 
play,  but  he's  the  best  sight-reader  in  this  district, 
bar  one.  I  never  met  his  equal.  When  you  come 
across  any  one  who  can  read  a  thing  like  the  Do- 
mestic Symphony  right  off  and  never  miss  his  place, 
you  might  send  me  a  telegram.  Colclough's  got  a 
Steinway.  Wish  I  had." 

Mrs.  Brindley  had  been  looking  through  the 
Signal. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  about  Simon  Fuge  here," 
said  she. 

"  Oh,    nonsense !  "    said   her   husband.     "  Buch- 
anan's sure  to  have  got  something  in  about  it.     Let's 
look." 

He  received  the  paper  from  his  wife,  but  failed 
to  discover  in  it  a  word  concerning  the  death  of 
Simon  Fuge. 

"  Dashed  if  I  don't  ring  Buchanan  up  and  ask  him 
what  he  means !  Here's  a  paper  with  an  absolute 
monopoly  in  the  district,  and  brings  in  about  five 
thousand  a  year  clear  to  somebody,  and  it  doesn't 
give  the  news!  There  never  is  anything  but  ad- 
vertisements and  sporting  results  in  the  blessed 
thing." 

He  rushed  to  his  telephone,  which  was  in  the  hall. 
Or  rather,  he  did  not  rush;  he  went  extremely 
quickly,  with  aggressive  footsteps  that  seemed  to 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      115 

symbolise  just  retribution.  We  could  hear  him  at 
the  telephone. 

"Hello!  No.  Yes.  Is  that  you,  Buchanan? 
Well,  I  want  Mr.  Buchanan.  Is  that  you,  Buchanan? 
Yes,  I'm  all  right.  What  in  thunder  do  you  mean 
by  having  nothing  in  to-night  about  Simon  Fuge's 
death?  Eh?  Yes,  the  Gazette.  Well,  I  suppose 
you  aren't  Scotch  for  nothing.  Why  the  devil 
couldn't  you  stop  in  Scotland  and  edit  papers 
there?"  Then  a  laugh.  "I  see.  Yes.  What 
did  you  think  of  those  cigars?  Oh!  See  you  at 
dinner.  Ta-ta."  A  final  ring. 

"  The  real  truth  is,  he  wanted  some  advice  as  to 
the  tone  of  his  obituary  notice,"  said  Mr.  Brindley, 
coming  back  into  the  drawing-room.  "  He's  got 
it,  seemingly.  He  says  he's  writing  it  now,  for  to- 
morrow. He  didn't  put  in  the  mere  news  of  the 
death,  because  it  was  exclusive  to  the  Gazette,  and 
he's  been  having  some  difficulty  with  the  Gazette 
lately.  As  he  says,  to-morrow  afternoon  will  be 
quite  soon  enough  for  the  Five  Towns.  It  isn't  as 
if  Simon  Fuge  was  a  cricket  match.  So  now  you 
see  how  the  wheels  go  round,  Mr.  Loring." 

He  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  began  to  play 
softly  the  Castle  motive  from  the  Nibelung's  Ring. 
He  kept  repeating  it  in  different  keys. 

"  What  about  the  mumps,  wife?  "  he  asked  Mrs. 
Brindley,  who  had  been  out  of  the  room  and  now 
returned. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  think  it  is  mumps,"  she  replied. 
"  They're  all  asleep." 


n6    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Good!"  he  murmured,  still  playing  the  Castle 
motive. 

"  Talking  of  Simon  Fuge,"  I  said,  determined  to 
satisfy  my  curiosity,  "  who  were  the  two  sisters?  " 

"What  two  sisters?" 

"  That  he  spent  the  night  in  the  boat  with,  on 
Ham  Lake." 

"  Was  that  in  the  Gazette?  I  didn't  read  all  the 
article." 

He  changed  abruptly  into  the  Sword  motive, 
which  he  gave  with  a  violent  flourish,  and  then  he 
left  the  piano. 

"  I  do  beg  you  not  to  wake  my  children,"  said  his 
wife. 

"  Your  children  must  get  used  to  my  piano,"  said 
he.  "  Now,  then,  what  about  these  two  sisters?  " 

I  pulled  the  Gazette  from  my  pocket  and  handed  it 
to  him.  He  read  aloud  the  passage  describing  the 
magic  night  on  the  lake. 

"  /  don't  know  who  they  were,"  he  said.  "  Prob- 
ably something  tasty  from  the  Hanbridge  Empire." 

We  both  observed  a  faint,  amused  smile  on  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Brindley,  the  smile  of  a  woman  who 
has  suddenly  discovered  in  her  brain  a  piece  of 
knowledge  rare  and  piquant. 

"  I  can  guess  who  they  were,"  she  said.  "  In 
fact,  I'm  sure." 

"Who?" 

"  Annie  Brett  and  —  you  know  who." 

"  What,  down  at  the  Tiger?  " 

"  Certainly.     Hush !  "     Mrs.  Brindley  ran  to  the 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     117 

door  and,  opening  it,  listened.  The  faint,  fretful 
cry  of  a  child  reached  us.  "  There  I  You've  done 
it!  I  told  you  you  would!  " 

She  disappeared.     Mr.  Brindley  whistled. 

"And  who  is  Annie  Brett?"  I  enquired. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  with  a  peculiar  inflection. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  her?  " 

"  I  should,"  I  said  with  decision. 

"  Well,  come  on,  then.  We'll  go  down  to  the 
Tiger  and  have  a  drop  of  something." 

"  And  the  other  sister?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  other  sister  is  Mrs.  Oliver  Colclough,"  he 
answered.  "  Curious,  ain't  it?" 

Again  there  was  that  swift,  scarcely  perceptible 
phenomenon  in  his  eyes. 


We  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  side-street  and  the 
main  road,  and  down  the  main  road  a  vast,  white 
rectangular  cube  of  bright  light  came  plunging  — 
its  head  rising  and  dipping  —  at  express  speed,  and 
with  a  formidable  roar.  Mr.  Brindley  imperiously 
raised  his  stick;  the  extraordinary  box  of  light 
stopped  as  if  by  a  miracle,  and  we  jumped  into  it, 
having  splashed  through  mud,  and  it  plunged  off 
again  —  bump,  bump,  bump  —  into  the  town  of 
Bursley.  As  Mr.  Brindley  passed  into  the  interior 
of  the  car,  he  said  laconically  to  two  men  who  were 
smoking  on  the  platform  — 

"How  do,  Jim?     How  do,  Jo?" 


And  they  responded  laconically  — 

"How  do,  Bob?" 

"How  do,  Bob?" 

We  sat  down.  Mr.  Brindley  pointed  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  floor. 

"Cheerful,  isn't  it?"  he  observed  to  me,  shout- 
ing above  the  din  of  vibrating  glass. 

Our  fellow-passengers  were  few  and  unromantic, 
perhaps  half-a-dozen  altogether  on  the  long,  shiny, 
yellow  seats  of  the  car,  each  apparently  lost  in 
gloomy  reverie. 

"  It's  the  advertisements  and  notices  in  these  cars 
that  are  the  joy  of  the  super-man  like  you  and 
me,"  shouted  Mr.  Brindley.  "  Look  there,  *  Pas- 
sengers are  requested  not  to  spit  on  the  floor.' 
Simply  an  encouragement  to  lie  on  the  seats  and  spit 
on  the  ceiling,  isn't  it?  'Wear  only  Noble's  won- 
derful boots.'  Suppose  we  did!  Unless  they  came 
well  up  above  the  waist  we  should  be  prosecuted. 
But  there's  no  sense  of  humour  in  this  district." 

Greengrocers'  shops  and  public-houses  were  now 
flying  past  the  windows  of  the  car.  It  began  to 
climb  a  hill,  and  then  halted. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Brindley. 

And  he  was  out  of  the  car  almost  before  I  had 
risen. 

We  strolled  along  a  quiet  street,  and  came  to  a 
large  building  with  many  large  lighted  windows, 
evidently  some  result  of  public  effort. 

"What's  that  place?"  I  demanded. 

"  That's  the  Wedgwood  Institution." 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      119 

"  Oh !  So  that's  the  Wedgwood  Institution,  is 
it?" 

"  Yes.  Commonly  called  the  Wedgwood. 
Museum,  reading-room,  public  library  —  dirtiest 
books  in  the  world,  I  mean  physically  —  art  school, 
science  school.  I've  never  explained  to  you  why 
I'm  chairman  of  the  Management  Committee,  have 
I?  Well,  it's  because  the  Institution  is  meant  to 
foster  the  arts,  and  I  happen  to  know  nothing  about 
'em.  I  needn't  tell  you  that  architecture,  literature 
and  music  are  not  arts  within  the  meaning  of  the 
act.  Not  much !  Like  to  come  in  and  see  the  mu- 
seum for  a  minute?  You'll  have  to  see  it  in  your 
official  capacity  to-morrow." 

We  crossed  the  road,  and  entered  an  imposing 
portico.  Just  as  we  did  so  a  thick  stream  of 
slouching  men  began  to  descend  the  steps,  like  a 
waterfall  of  treacle.  Mr.  Brindley  they  appeared 
to  see,  but  evidently  I  made  no  impression  on  their 
retinas.  They  bore  down  the  steps,  hands  deep  in 
pockets,  sweeping  over  me  like  Fate.  Even  when 
I  bounced  off  one  of  them  to  a  lower  step,  he 
showed  by  no  sign  that  the  fact  of  my  existence  had 
reached  his  consciousness  —  simply  bore  irresistibly 
downwards.  The  crowd  was  absolutely  silent.  At 
last  I  gained  the  entrance  hall. 

"  It's  closing-time  for  the  reading-room,"  said 
Mr.  Brindley. 

"  I'm  glad  I  survived  it,"  I  said. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  he,  "  that  people  who  can't 
look  after  themselves  don't  flourish  in  these  lati- 


120    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tudes.  But  you'll  be  acclimatised  by  to-morrow. 
See  that?" 

He  pointed  to  an  alabaster  tablet  on  which  was 
engraved  a  record  of  the  historical  certainty  that 
Mr.  Gladstone  opened  the  Institution  in  1868,  also 
an  extract  from  the  speech  which  he  delivered  on 
that  occasion. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Gladstone  down  here?" 
I  demanded. 

"  In  my  official  capacity  I  think  that  these  death- 
less words  are  the  last  utterance  of  wisdom  on  the 
subject  of  the  influence  of  the  liberal  arts  on  life. 
And  I  should  advise  you,  in  your  official  capacity, 
to  think  the  same,  unless  you  happen  to  have  a  fancy 
for  having  your  teeth  knocked  down  your  throat." 

"  I  see,"  I  said,  not  sure  how  to  take  him. 

"  Lest  you  should  go  away  with  the  idea  that  you 
have  been  visiting  a  rude  and  barbaric  people,  I'd 
better  explain  that  that  was  a  joke.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  we're  rather  enlightened  here.  The  only 
man  who  stands  a  chance  of  getting  his  teeth 
knocked  down  his  throat  here  is  the  ingenious  per- 
son who  started  the  celebrated  legend  of  the  man- 
and-dog  fight  at  Hanbridge.  It's  a  long  time  ago, 
a  very  long  time  ago;  but  his  grey  hairs  won't  save 
him  from  horrible  tortures  if  we  catch  him.  We 
don't  mind  being  called  immoral,  we're  above  a  bit 
flattered  when  London  newspapers  come  out  with 
shocking  details  of  debauchery  in  the  Five  Towns, 
but  we  pride  ourselves  on  our  manners.  I  say, 
Aked !  "  His  voice  rose  commandingly,  threaten- 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      121 

ingly,   to   an   old   bent,    spectacled   man   who   was 
ascending  a  broad  white  staircase  in  front  of  us. 

"  Sir  I  "     The  man  turned. 

44  Don't  turn  the  lights  out  yet  in  the  museum." 

14  No,  sir?  Are  you  coming  up?"  The  accents 
were  slow  and  tremulous. 

4  Yes.  I  have  a  gentleman  here  from  the  British 
Museum  who  wants  to  look  round." 

The  oldish  man  came  deliberately  down  the  steps, 
and  approached  us.  Then  his  gaze,  beginning  at 
my  waist,  gradually  rose  to  my  hat. 

44  From  the  British  Museum?"  he  drawled. 
44  I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir.  I'm  sure 
it's  a  very  great  honour." 

He  held  out  a  wrinkled  hand,  which  I  shook. 

44  Mr.  Aked,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  by  way  of  in- 
troduction. 44  Been  caretaker  here  for  pretty  near 
forty  years." 

44  Ever  since  it  opened,  sir,"  said  Aked. 

We  went  up  the  white  stone  stairway,  rather  a 
grandiose  construction  for  a  little  industrial  town. 
It  divided  itself  into  double  curving  flights  at  the 
first  landing,  and  its  walls  were  covered  with  pic- 
tures and  designs.  The  museum  itself,  a  series  of 
three  communicating  rooms,  was  about  as  large  as 
a  pocket-handkerchief. 

44  Quite  small,"  I  said. 

I  gave  my  impression  candidly,  because  I  had 
already  judged  Mr.  Brindley  to  be  the  rare  and 
precious  individual  who  is  worthy  of  the  high 
honour  of  frankness. 


122     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  demanded  quickly.  I 
had  shocked  him,  that  was  clear.  His  tone  was 
unmistakable;  it  indicated  an  instinctive,  involuntary 
protest.  But  he  recovered  himself  in  a  flash. 
"  That's  jealousy,"  he  laughed.  "  All  you  British 
Museum  people  are  the  same."  Then  he  added, 
with  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  convince  me  that  he 
meant  what  he  was  saying :  "  Of  course  it  is  small. 
It's  nothing,  simply  nothing." 

Yes,  I  had  unwittingly  found  the  joint  in  the 
armour  of  this  extraordinary  Midland  personage. 
With  all  his  irony,  with  all  his  violent  humour,  with 
all  his  just  and  unprejudiced  perception,  he  had  a 
tenderness  for  the  Institution  of  which  he  was  the 
dictator.  He  loved  it.  He  could  laugh  like  a  god 
at  everything  in  the  Five  Towns  except  this  one 
thing.  He  would  try  to  force  himself  to  regard 
even  this  with  the  same  lofty  detachment,  but  he 
could  not  do  it  naturally. 

I  stopped  at  a  case  of  Wedgwood  ware,  marked 
"  Perkins  Collection." 

"  By  Jove !  "  I  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a  vase. 
"What  a  body!" 

He  was  enchanted  by  my  enthusiasm. 

"  Funny  you  should  have  hit  on  that,"  said  he. 
"  Old  Daddy  Perkins  always  called  it  his  ewe- 
lamb." 

Thus  spoken,  the  name  of  the  greatest  authority 
on  Wedgwood  ware  that  Europe  has  ever  known 
curiously  impressed  me. 

"  I  suppose  you  knew  him?  "  I  questioned. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      123 

"  Considering  that  I  was  one  of  the  pall-bearers 
at  his  funeral,  and  caught  the  champion  cold  of 
my  life!" 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  was  he?  " 

"  Outside  Wedgwood  ware  he  wasn't  any  sort  of 
a  man.  He  was  that  scourge  of  society,  a  philan- 
thropist," said  Mr.  Brindley.  "  He  was  an  upright 
citizen,  and  two  thousand  people  followed  him  to 
his  grave.  I'm  an  upright  citizen,  but  I  have  no 
hope  that  two  thousand  people  will  follow  me  to 
my  grave." 

"  You  never  know  what  may  happen,"  I  ob- 
served, smiling. 

"  No."  He  shook  his  head.  "  If  you  undermine 
the  moral  character  of  your  fellow-citizens-  by  a 
long  course  of  unbridled  miscellaneous  philanthropy, 
you  can  have  a  funeral  procession  as  long  as  you 
like,  at  the  rate  of  about  forty  shillings  a  foot.  But 
you'll  never  touch  the  great  heart  of  the  enlightened 
public  of  these  boroughs  in  any  other  way.  Do 
you  imagine  any  one  cared  a  twopenny  damn  for 
Perkins's  Wedgwood  ware?  " 

"  It's  like  that  everywhere,"  I  said. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  he  assented  unwillingly. 

Who  can  tell  what  was  passing  in  the  breast  of 
Mr.  Brindley?  I  could  not.  At  least  I  could  not 
tell  with  any  precision.  I  could  only  gather, 
vaguely,  that  what  he  considered  the  wrong-headed- 
ness,  the  blindness,  the  lack  of  true  perception,  of  his 
public  was  beginning  to  produce  in  his  individuality 
a  faint  trace  of  permanent  soreness.  I  regretted  it. 


124    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

And  I  showed  my  sympathy  with  him  by  asking 
questions  about  the  design  and  construction  of  the 
museum  (a  late  addition  to  the  Institution),  of 
which  I  happened  to  know  that  he  had  been  the 
architect. 

He  at  once  became  interested  and  interesting. 
Although  he  perhaps  insisted  a  little  too  much  on 
the  difficulties  which  occur  when  original  talent  en- 
counters stupidity,  he  did,  as  he  walked  me  up  and 
down,  contrive  to  convey  to  me  a  notion  of  the 
creative  processes  of  the  architect  in  a  way  that  was 
in  my  experience  entirely  novel.  He  was  impress- 
ing me  anew,  and  I  was  wondering  whether  he  was 
unique  of  his  kind  or  whether  there  existed  regi- 
ments of  him  in  this  strange  parcel  of  England. 

"  Now,  you  see  this  girder,"  he  said,  looking  up- 
wards. 

"That's  surely  something  of  Fuge's,  isn't  it?"  I 
asked,  indicating  a  small  picture  in  a  corner,  after 
he  had  finished  his  explanation  of  the  functions  of 
the  girder. 

As  on  the  walls  of  the  staircase  and  corridors, 
so  on  the  walls  here,  there  were  many  paintings, 
drawings  and  engravings.  And  of  course  the  best 
were  here  in  the  museum.  The  least  uninteresting 
items  of  the  collection  were,  speaking  generally,  re- 
productions in  monotint  of  celebrated  works,  and  a 
few  second-  or  third-rate  loan  pictures  from  South 
Kensington.  Aside  from  such  matters  I  had  noticed 
nothing  but  the  usual  local  trivialities,  gifts  from 
one  citizen  or  another,  travel-jottings  of  some  art- 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     125 

master,  careful  daubs  of  apt  students  without  a 
sense  of  humour.  The  aspect  of  the  place  was  ex- 
actly the  customary  aspect  of  the  small  provincial 
museum,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  half-a-hundred  towns 
that  are  not  among  "  the  great  towns."  It  had 
the  terrible  trite  "  museum "  aspect,  the  aspect 
that  brings  woe  and  desolation  to  the  heart  of 
the  stoutest  visitor,  and  which  seems  to  form  part 
of  the  purgatorio  of  Bank-holidays,  wide  mouths, 
and  stiff  clothes.  The  movement  for  opening  mu- 
seums on  Sundays  is  the  most  natural  movement 
that  could  be  conceived.  For  if  ever  a  resort 
was  invented  and  foreordained  to  chime  with 
the  true  spirit  of  the  British  sabbath,  that  resort 
is  the  average  museum.  I  ought  to  know.  I  do 
know. 

But  there  was  the  incomparable  Wedgwood  ware, 
and  there  was  the  little  picture  by  Simon  Fuge.  I 
am  not  going  to  lose  my  sense  of  perspective  con- 
cerning Simon  Fuge.  He  was  not  the  greatest 
painter  that  ever  lived,  or  even  of  his  time.  He 
had,  I  am  ready  to  believe,  very  grave  limitations. 
But  he  was  a  painter  by  himself,  as  all  fine  painters 
are.  He  had  his  own  vision.  He  was  unique. 
He  was  exclusively  preoccupied  with  the  beauty  and 
the  romance  of  the  authentic.  The  little  picture 
showed  all  this.  It  was  a  painting,  unfinished,  of  a 
girl  standing  at  a  door  and  evidently  hesitating 
whether  to  open  the  door  or  not:  a  very  young  girl, 
very  thin,  with  long  legs  in  black  stockings,  and 
short,  white,  untidy  frock;  thin  bare  arms;  the  head 


126     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

thrown  on  one  side,  and  the  hands  raised,  and  one 
foot  raised,  in  a  wonderful  childish  gesture  —  the 
gesture  of  an  undecided  fox-terrier.  The  face  was 
an  infant's  face,  utterly  innocent;  and  yet  Simon 
Fuge  had  somehow  caught  in  that  face  a  glimpse  of 
all  the  future  of  the  woman  that  the  girl  was  to  be, 
he  had  displayed  with  exquisite  insolence  the  essen- 
tial naughtiness  of  his  vision  of  things.  The  thing 
was  not  much  more  than  a  sketch;  it  was  a  happy 
accident,  perhaps,  in  some  day's  work  of  Simon 
Fuge's.  But  it  was  genius.  When  once  you  had 
yielded  to  it,  there  was  no  other  picture  in  the  room. 
It  killed  everything  else.  But,  wherever  it  had 
found  itself,  nothing  could  have  killed  it.  Its  suc- 
cess was  undeniable,  indestructible.  And  it  glowed 
sombrely  there  on  the  wall,  a  few  splashes  of  colour 
on  a  morsel  of  canvas,  and  it  was  Simon  Fuge's 
unconscious,  proud  challenge  to  the  Five  Towns. 
It  was  Simon  Fuge,  at  any  rate  all  of  Simon  Fuge 
that  was  worth  having,  masterful,  imperishable. 
And  not  merely  was  it  his  challenge,  it  was  his 
scorn,  his  aristocratic  disdain,  his  positive  assurance 
that  in  the  battle  between  them  he  had  annihilated 
the  Five  Towns.  It  hung  there  in  the  very  midst 
thereof,  calmly  and  contemptuously  waiting  for  the 
acknowledgment  of  his  victory. 

"Which?  "said  Mr.  Brindley. 

"  That  one." 

'  Yes,    I    fancy    it    is,"    he    negligently    agreed. 
11  Yes,  it  is." 

"  It's  not  signed,"  I  remarked. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      127 

"It  ought  to  be,"  said  Mr.  Brindley;  then 
laughed,  "  Too  late  now  1  " 

"How  did  it  get  here?" 

"  Don't  know.  Oh !  I  think  Mr.  Perkins  won 
it  in  a  raffle  at  a  bazaar,  and  then  hung  it  here.  He 
did  as  he  liked  here,  you  know." 

I  was  just  going  to  become  vocal  in  its  praise 
when  Mr.  Brindley  said  — 

"  That  thing  under  it  is  a  photograph  of  a  drink- 
ing-cup  for  which  one  of  our  pupils  won  a  national 
scholarship  last  year." 

Mr.  Aked  appeared  in  the  distance. 

"  I  fancy  the  old  boy  wants  to  be  off  to  bed," 
Mr.  Brindley  whispered  kindly. 

So  we  left  the  Wedgwood  Institution.  I  began 
to  talk  to  Mr.  Brindley  about  music.  The  barbaric 
attitude  of  the  Five  Towns  towards  great  music 
was  the  theme  of  some  very  lively  animadversions 
on  his  part. 

VI 

The  Tiger  was  very  conveniently  close  to  the 
Wedgwood  Institution.  The  Tiger  had  a  "  yard," 
one  of  those  long,  shapeless  expanses  of  the  planet, 
partly  paved  with  uneven  cobbles  and  partly  un- 
sophisticated itself,  without  which  no  provincial 
hotel  can  call  itself  respectable.  We  came  into  it 
from  the  hinterland  through  a  wooden  doorway  in 
a  brick  wall.  Far  off  I  could  see  one  light  burning. 
We  were  in  the  centre  of  Bursley,  the  gold  angel  of 
its  Town  Hall  rose  handsomely  over  the  roof  of 


128     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

the  hotel  in  the  diffused  moonlight,  but  we  might 
have  been  in  the  purlieus  of  some  dubious  establish- 
ment on  the  confines  of  a  great  seaport,  where  any- 
thing may  happen.  The  yard  was  so  deserted,  so 
mysterious,  so  shut  in,  so  silent,  that,  really,  in- 
famous characters  ought  to  have  rushed  out  at  us 
from  the  obscurity  of  shadows,  and  felled  us  to  the 
earth  with  no  other  attendant  phenomenon  than  a 
low  groan.  There  are  places  where  one  seems  to 
feel  how  thin  and  brittle  is  the  crust  of  law  and 
order.  Why  one  should  be  conscious  of  this  in  the 
precincts  of  such  a  house  as  the  Tiger,  which  I  was 
given  to  understand  is  as  respectable  as  the  parish 
church,  I  do  not  know.  But  I  have  experienced  a 
similar  feeling  in  the  yards  of  other  provincial  hotels 
that  were  also  as  correct  as  parish  churches.  We 
passed  a  dim  fly,  with  its  shafts  slanting  forlornly 
to  the  ground,  and  a  wheelbarrow.  Both  looked 
as  though  they  had  been  abandoned  for  ever.  Then 
we  came  to  the  lamp,  which  illuminated  a  door,  and 
on  the  door  was  a  notice:  "Private  Bar.  Bil- 
liards." 

I  am  not  a  frequenter  of  convivial  haunts.  I 
should  not  dare  to  penetrate  alone  into  a  private 
bar;  when  I  do  enter  a  private  bar  it  is  invariably 
under  the  august  protection  of  an  habitue,  and  it  is 
invariably  with  the  idea  that  at  last  I  am  going  to 
see  life.  Often  has  this  illusion  been  shattered,  but 
each  time  it  perfectly  renews  itself.  So  I  followed 
the  bold  Mr.  Brindley  into  the  private  bar  of  the 
Tiger. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     129 

It  was  a  small  and  low  room.  I  instinctively 
stooped,  though  there  was  no  necessity  for  me  to 
stoop.  The  bar  had  no  peculiarity.  It  can  be 
described  in  a  breath:  Three  perpendicular  planes. 
Back  plane,  bottles  arranged  exactly  like  books  on 
book-shelves;  middle  plane,  the  upper  halves  of  two 
women  dressed  in  tight  black;  front  plane,  a  coun- 
ter, dotted  with  glasses,  and  having  strange  areas 
of  zinc.  Reckon  all  that  as  the  stage,  and  the  rest 
of  the  room  as  auditorium.  But  the  stage  of  a 
private  bar  is  more  mysterious  than  the  stage  of  a 
theatre.  You  are  closer  to  it,  and  yet  it  is  far  less 
approachable.  The  edge  •  of  the  counter  is  more 
sacred  than  the  footlights.  Impossible  to  imagine 
yourself  leaping  over  it.  Impossible  to  imagine 
yourself  in  that  cloistered  place  behind  it.  Impossi- 
ble to  imagine  how  the  priestesses  got  themselves 
into  that  place,  or  that  they  ever  leave  it.  They 
are  always  there;  they  are  always  the  same.  You 
may  go  into  a  theatre  when  it  is  empty  and  dark; 
but  did  you  ever  go  into  a  private  bar  that  was 
empty  and  dark?  A  private  bar  is  as  eternal  as  the 
hills,  as  changeless  as  the  monomania  of  a  madman, 
as  mysterious  as  sorcery.  Always  the  same  order 
of  bottles,  the  same  tinkling,  the  same  popping,  the 
same  time-tables,  and  the  same  realistic  pictures  of 
frothing  champagne  on  the  walls,  the  same  adver- 
tisements on  the  same  ash-trays  on  the  counter,  the 
same  odour  that  wipes  your  face  like  a  towel  the 
instant  you  enter;  and  the  same  smiles,  the  same 
gestures,  the  same  black  fabric  stretched  to  tension 


130    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

over  the  same  impressive  mammiferous  phenomena 
of  the  same  inexplicable  creatures  who  apparently 
never  eat  and  never  sleep,  imprisoned  for  life  in 
the  hallowed  and  mystic  hollow  between  the  bottles 
and  the  zinc. 

In  a  tone  almost  inaudible  in  its  discretion,  Mr. 
Brindley  let  fall  to  me  as  we  went  in  — 

"  This  is  she." 

She  was  not  quite  the  ordinary  barmaid.  Nor, 
as  I  learnt  afterwards,  was  she  considered  to  be 
the  ordinary  barmaid.  She  was  something  mid- 
way in  importance  between  the  wife  of  the  new 
proprietor  and  the  younger  woman  who  stood  be- 
side her  in  the  cloister  talking  to  a  being  that  re- 
sembled a  commercial  traveller.  It  was  the  younger 
woman  who  was  the  ordinary  barmaid;  she  had 
bright  hair,  and  the  bright  vacant  stupidity  which, 
in  my  narrow  experience,  barmaids  so  often  catch 
like  an  infectious  disease  from  their  clients.  But 
Annie  Brett  was  different.  I  can  best  explain  how 
she  impressed  me  by  saying  that  she  had  the  mien  of 
a  handsome  married  woman  of  forty  with  a  coquet- 
tish and  superficially  emotional  past,  but  also  with 
a  daughter  who  is  just  going  into  long  skirts.  I 
have  known  one  or  two  such  women.  They  have 
been  beautiful;  they  are  still  handsome  at  a  distance 
of  twelve  feet.  They  are  rather  effusive;  they 
think  they  know  life,  when  as  a  fact  their  instinctive 
repugnance  for  any  form  of  truth  has  prevented 
them  from  acquiring  even  the  rudiments  of  the 
knowledge  of  life.  They  are  secretly  preoccupied 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     131 

by  the  burning  question  of  obesity.  They  flatter, 
and  they  will  pay  any  price  for  flattery.  They  are 
never  sincere,  not  even  with  themselves;  they  never, 
during  the  whole  of  their  existences,  utter  a  sincere 
word,  even  in  anger  they  coldly  exaggerate.  They 
are  always  frothing  at  the  mouth  with  ecstasy. 
They  adore  everything,  including  God;  go  to 
church  carrying  a  prayer-took  and  hymn-book  in 
separate  volumes,  and  absolutely  fawn  on  the 
daughter.  They  are  stylish  —  and  impenetrable. 
But  there  is  something  about  them  very  wistful  and 
tragic. 

In  another  social  stratum,  Miss  Annie  Brett 
might  have  been  such  a  woman.  Without  doubt 
nature  had  intended  her  for  the  role.  She  was  just 
a  little  ample,  with  broad  shoulders  and  a  large  head 
and  a  lot  of  dark  chestnut  hair;  a  large  mouth,  and 
large  teeth.  She  had  earrings,  a  brooch,  and  sev- 
eral rings;  also  a  neat  originality  of  cuffs  that  would 
not  have  been  permitted  to  an  ordinary  barmaid.  As 
for  her  face,  there  were  crow's-feet,  and  a  mole 
(which  had  selected  with  infinite  skill  a  site  on  her 
chin),  and  a  general  degeneracy  of  complexion;  but 
it  was  an  effective  face.  The  little  thing  of  twenty- 
three  or  so  by  her  side  had  all  the  cruel  advantages 
of  youth,  and  was  not  ugly;  but  she  was  "  killed" 
by  Annie  Brett.  Miss  Brett  had  a  maternal  bust. 
Indeed,  something  of  the  material  resided  in  all  of 
her  that  was  visible  above  the  zinc.  She  must  have 
been  about  forty;  that  is  to  say,  apparently  older 
than  the  late  Simon  Fuge.  Nevertheless,  I  could 


132     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

conceive  her,  even  now,  speciously  picturesque  in  a 
boat  at  midnight  on  a  moonstruck  water.  Had  she 
been  on  the  stage  she  would  have  been  looking  for- 
ward to  ingenue  parts  for  another  five  years  yet  — 
such  was  her  durable  sort  of  effectiveness.  Yes,  she 
indubitably  belonged  to  the  ornamental  half  of  the 
universe. 

"  So  this  is  one  of  them !  "  I  said  to  myself. 

I  tried  to  be  philosophical;  but  at  heart  I  was 
profoundly  disappointed.  I  did  not  know  what  I 
had  expected;  but  I  had  not  expected  that.  I  was 
well  aware  that  a  thing  written  always  takes  on  a 
quality  which  does  not  justly  appertain  to  it.  I  had 
not  expected,  therefore,  to  see  an  odalisque,  a  houri, 
an  ideal  toy  or  the  remains  of  an  ideal  toy;  I  had 
not  expected  any  kind  of  obvious  brilliancy,  nor  a 
subtle  charm  that  would  haunt  my  memory  for  ever- 
more. On  the  other  hand,  I  had  not  expected  the 
banal,  the  perfectly  commonplace.  And  I  think  that 
Miss  Annie  Brett  was  the  most  banal  person  that 
it  has  pleased  Fate  to  send  into  my  life.  I  knew 
that  instantly.  She  was  a  condemnation  of  Simon 
Fuge.  She,  one  of  the  "  wonderful  creatures  who 
had  played  so  large  a  part "  in  the  career  of  Simon 
Fuge !  Sapristi!  Still,  she  was  one  of  the  wonder- 
ful creatures,  etc.  She  had  floated  o'er  the  bosom 
of  the  lake  with  a  great  artist.  She  had  received  his 
homage.  She  had  stirred  his  feelings.  She  had 
shared  with  him  the  magic  of  the  night.  I  might 
decry  her  as  I  would;  she  had  known  how  to  cast  a 
spell  over  him  —  she  and  the  other  one!  Some- 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      133 

thing  there  was  in  her  which  had  captured  him  and, 
seemingly,  held  him  captive. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Brindley,"  she  expanded. 
"  You're  quite  a  stranger."  And  she  embraced  me 
also  in  the  largeness  of  her  welcome. 

"  It  just  happens,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  "  that  I 
was  here  last  night.  But  you  weren't." 

"  Were  you  now  1  "  she  exclaimed,  as  though 
learning  a  novel  fact  of  the  most  passionate  interest. 
"  The  truth  is,  I  had  to  leave  the  bar  to  Miss 
Slaney  last  night.  Mrs.  Moorcroft  was  ill  —  and 
the  baby  only  six  weeks  old,  you  know  —  and  I 
wouldn't  leave  her.  No,  I  wouldn't." 

It  was  plain  that  in  Miss  Annie  Brett's  opinion 
there  was  only  one  really  capable  intelligence  in 
the  Tiger.  This  glimpse  of  her  capability,  this  out- 
leaping  of  the  latent  maternal  in  her,  completely 
destroyed  for  the  moment  my  vision  of  her  afloat 
on  the  bosom  of  the  lake. 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Brindley  kindly.  Then  he 
turned  to  me  with  characteristic  abruptness.  "  Well, 
give  it  a  name,  Mr.  Loring." 

Such  is  my  simplicity  that  I  did  not  immediately 
comprehend  his  meaning.  For  a  fraction  of  a 
second  I  thought  of  the  baby.  Then  I  perceived 
that  he  was  merely  employing  one  of  the  sacred 
phrases,  sanctified  by  centuries  of  usage,  of  the  pri- 
vate bar.  I  had  already  drunk  mercurey,  green 
Chartreuse,  and  coffee.  I  had  a  violent  desire  not 
to  drink  anything  more.  I  knew  my  deplorable  to- 
morrows. Still,  I  would  have  drunk  hot  milk,  cold 


134    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

water,  soda  water  or  tea.  Why  should  I  not  have 
had  what  I  did  not  object  to  having?  Herein  lies 
another  mystery  of  the  private  bar.  One  could 
surely  order  tea  or  milk  or  soda  water  from  a 
woman  who  left  everything  to  tend  a  mother  with 
a  six-weeks-old  baby!  But  no.  One  could  not. 
As  Miss  Annie  Brett  smiled  at  me  pointedly,  and 
rubbed  her  ringed  hands,  and  kept  on  smiling  with 
her  terrific  mechanical  effusiveness,  I  lost  all  my  self- 
control;  I  would  have  resigned  myself  to  a  hundred 
horrible  to-morrows  under  the  omnipotent,  inexplica- 
ble influence  of  the  private  bar.  I  ejaculated,  as 
though  to  the  manner  born  — 

"  Irish." 

It  proved  to  have  been  rather  clever  of  me,  show- 
ing as  it  did  a  due  regard  for  convention  combined 
with  a  pretty  idiosyncrasy.  Mr.  Brindley  was 
clearly  taken  aback.  The  idea  struck  him  as  a  new 
one.  He  reflected,  and  then  enthusiastically  ex- 
claimed — 

"  Dashed  if  I  don't  have  Irish  too!  " 

And  Miss  Brett,  delighted  by  this  unexpected 
note  of  Irish  in  the  long,  long  symphony  of  Scotch, 
charged  our  glasses  with  gusto.  I  sipped,  death  in 
my  heart,  and  rakishness  in  my  face  and  gesture. 
Mr.  Brindley  raised  his  glass  respectfully  to  Miss 
Annie  Brett,  and  I  did  the  same.  Those  two  were 
evidently  good  friends. 

She  led  the  conversation  with  hard,  accustomed 
ease.  When  I  say  "  hard  "  I  do  not  in  the  least 
mean  unsympathetic.  But  her  sympathetic  quality 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      135 

was  toughened  by  excessive  usage,  like  the  hand  of 
a  charwoman.  She  spoke  of  the  vagaries  of  the 
Town  Hall  clock,  the  health  of  Mr.  Brindley's 
children,  the  price  of  coal,  the  incidence  of  the 
annual  wakes,  the  bankruptcy  of  the  draper  next 
door,  and  her  own  sciatica,  all  in  the  same  tone  of 
metallic  tender  solicitude.  Mr.  Brindley  adopted  an 
entirely  serious  attitude  towards  her.  If  I  had 
met  him  there  and  nowhere  else  I  should  have  taken 
him  for  a  dignified  mediocrity,  little  better  than  a 
fool,  but  with  just  enough  discretion  not  to  give 
himself  away.  I  said  nothing.  I  was  shy.  I 
always  am  shy  in  a  bar.  Out  of  her  cold,  cold  rov- 
ing eye  Miss  Brett  watched  me,  trying  to  add  me 
up  and  not  succeeding.  She  must  have  perceived, 
however,  that  I  was  not  like  a  fish  in  water. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  talk,  due,  I  think,  to 
Miss  Annie  Brett's  preoccupation  with  what  was 
going  on  between  Miss  Slaney,  the  ordinary  bar- 
maid, and  her  commercial  traveller.  The  commer- 
cial traveller,  if  he  was  one,  was  reading  some- 
thing from  a  newspaper  to  Miss  Slaney  in  an 
indistinct  murmur,  and  with  laughter  in  his  voice. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  "  you  used  to 
know  Simon  Fuge,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Old  Simon  Fuge!"  said  Miss  Brett.  "Yes; 
after  the  brewery  company  took  the  Blue  Bell  at 
Cauldon  over  from  him,  I  used  to  be  there.  He 
would  come  in  sometimes.  Such  a  nice  queer  old 
man!" 

"  I  mean  the  son,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 


136     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  knew  young  Mr. 
Simon  too."  A  slight  hesitation,  and  then:  "Of 
course!"  Another  hesitation.  "Why?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Brindley.  "Only  he's 
dead." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  he's  dead !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Day  before  yesterday,  in  Italy,"  said  Mr.  Brind- 
ley ruthlessly. 

Miss  Annie  Brett's  manner  certainly  changed.  It 
seemed  almost  to  become  natural  and  unecstatic. 

"I  suppose  it  will  be  in  the  papers?"  she  ven- 
tured. 

"  It's  in  the  London  paper." 

"Well,  I  never!  "  she  muttered. 

*'  A  long  time,  I  should  think,  since  he  was  in  this 
part  of  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Brindley.  "When 
did  you  last  see  him?  " 

He  was  exceedingly  skilful,  I  considered. 

She  put  the  back  of  her  hand  over  her  mouth,  and 
bending  her  head  slightly  and  lowering  her  eyelids, 
gazed  reflectively  at  the  counter. 

"  It  was  once  when  a  lot  of  us  went  to  Ham,"  she 
answered  quietly.  "  The  St.  Luke's  lot,  you  know." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mr.  Brindley,  apparently  startled. 
"The  St.  Luke's  lot?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  came  he  to  go  with  you?  " 

"  He  didn't  go  with  us.  He  was  there  —  stop- 
ping there,  I  suppose." 

"  Why,  I  believe  I  remember  hearing  something 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     137 

about  that,"  said  Mr.  Brindley  cunningly.  "  Didn't 
he  take  you  out  in  a  boat?  " 

A  very  faint  dark  crimson  spread  over  the  face 
of  Miss  Annie  Brett.  It  could  not  be  called  a  blush, 
but  was  as  like  a  blush  as  was  possible  to  her.  The 
phenomenon,  as  I  could  see  from  his  eyes,  gave  Mr. 
Brindley  another  shock. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.     "  Sally  was  there  as  well." 

Then  a  silence,  during  which  the  commercial  trav- 
eller could  be  heard  reading  from  the  newspaper. 

"When  was  that?"  gently  asked  Mr.  Brindley. 

11  Don't  ask  me  when  it  was,  Mr.  Brindley,"  she 
answered  nervously.  "  It's  ever  so  long;  ago. 
What  did  he  die  of?" 

"  Don't  know." 

Miss  Annie  Brett  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  and 
did  not  speak.  There  were  tears  in  her  reddened 
eyes.  I  felt  very  awkward,  and  I  think  that  Mr. 
Brindley  also  felt  awkward.  But  I  was  glad. 
Those  moist  eyes  caused  me  a  thrill.  There  was 
after  all  some  humanity  in  Miss  Annie  Brett.  Yes, 
she  had  after  all  floated  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake 
with  Simon  Fuge.  The  least  romantic  of  persons, 
she  had  yet  felt  romance.  If  she  had  touched  Simon 
Fuge,  Simon  Fuge  had  touched  her.  She  had  mem- 
ories. Once  she  had  lived.  I  pictured  her  younger. 
I  sought  in  her  face  the  soft  remains  of  youthful- 
ness.  I  invented  languishing  poses  for  her  in  the 
boat.  My  imagination  was  equal  to  the  task  of  see- 
ing her  as  Simon  Fuge  saw  her.  I  did  so  see  her. 
I  recalled  Simon  Fuge's  excited  description  of  the 


138     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

long  night  in  the  boat,  and  I  could  reconstitute  the 
night  from  end  to  end.  And  there  the  identical 
creature  stood  before  me,  the  creature  who  had  set 
fire  to  Simon  Fuge,  one  of  the  "  wonderful  crea- 
tures "  of  the  Gazette,  ageing,  hardened,  banal,  but 
momentarily  restored  to  the  empire  of  romance  by 
those  unshed,  glittering  tears.  As  an  experience  it 
was  worth  having. 

She  could  not  speak,  and  we  did  not.  I  heard 
the  commercial  traveller  reading:  "'The  motion 
was  therefore  carried  by  twenty-five  votes  to  nine- 
teen, and  the  Countess  of  Chell  promised  that  the 
whole  question  of  the  employment  of  barmaids 
should  be  raised  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
B.W.T.S.'  There!  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Miss  Annie  Brett  moved  quickly  towards  the  com- 
mercial traveller. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  7  think  of  it,"  she  said,  with 
ecstatic  resentment.  "  I  think  it's  just  shameful ! 
Why  should  the  Countess  of  Chell  want  to  rob  a  lot 
of  respectable  young  ladies  of  their  living?  I  can 
tell  you  they're  just  as  respectable  as  the  Countess 
of  Chell  is  —  yes,  and  perhaps  more,  by  all  accounts. 
I  think  people  do  well  to  call  her  '  Interfering  Iris.' 
When  she's  robbed  them  of  their  living,  what  does 
she  expect  them  to  do?  Is  she  going  to  keep  them? 
Then  what  does  she  expect  them  to  do  ?  " 

The  commercial  traveller  was  inept  enough  to 
offer  a  jocular  reply,  and  then  he  found  himself  in- 
volved in  the  morass  of  "  the  whole  question."  He, 
and  we  also,  were  obliged  to  hear  in  immense  detail 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      139 

Miss  Annie  Brett's  complete  notions  of  the  move- 
ment for  the  abolition  of  barmaids.  The  subject 
was  heavy  on  her  mind,  and  she  lifted  it  off.  Simon 
Fuge  was  relinquished;  he  dropped  like  a  stone  into 
the  pool  of  forgetfulness.  And  yet,  strange  as  it 
seems,  she  was  assuredly  not  sincere  in  the  expression 
of  her  views  on  the  question  of  barmaids.  She  held 
no  real  views.  She  merely  persuaded  herself  that  she 
held  them.  When  the  commercial  traveller,  who 
was  devoid  of  sense,  pointed  out  that  it  was  not  pro- 
posed to  rob  anybody  of  a  livelihood,  and  that  ex- 
istent barmaids  would  be  permitted  to  grace  the 
counters  of  their  adoption,  she  grew  frostily  vicious. 
The  commercial  traveller  decided  to  retire  and  play 
billiards.  Mr.  Brindley  and  I  in  our  turn  departed. 
I  was  extremely  disappointed  by  this  sequel. 

"  Ah !  "  breathed  Mr.  Brindley  when  we  were 
outside,  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall.  "  She  was  quite 
right  about  that  clock." 

After  that  we  turned  silently  into  a  long  illumi- 
nated street  which  rose  gently.  The  boxes  of  light 
were  flashing  up  and  down  it,  but  otherwise  it  seemed 
to  be  quite  deserted.  Mr.  Brindley  filled  a  pipe  and 
lit  it  as  he  walked.  The  way  in  which  that  man 
kept  the  match  alight  in  a  fresh  breeze  made  me  en- 
vious. I  could  conceive  myself  rivalling  his  exploits 
in  cigarette-making,  the  purchase  of  rare  books,  the 
interpretation  of  music,  even  (for  a  wager)  the 
drinking  of  beer,  but  I  knew  that  I  should  never  be 
able  to  keep  a  match  alight  in  the  breeze.  He  threw 
the  match  into  the  mud,  and  in  the  mud  it  continued 


140    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

miraculously  to  burn  with  a  large  flame,  as  though 
still  under  his  magic  dominion.  There  are  some 
things  that  baffle  the  reasoning  faculty. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  she  must  have  been  a  pretty 
woman  once." 

"  *  Pretty,'  by  God!  "  he  replied,  "  she  was  beau- 
tiful. She  was  considered  the  finest  piece  in  Han- 
bridge  at  one  time.  And  let  me  tell  you  we're  sup- 
posed to  have  more  than  our  share  of  good  looks  in 
the  Five  Towns." 

"What  —  the  women,  you  mean?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  she  never  married?" 

"  No." 

"Nor  —  anything?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  she's  never " 

I  was  just  going  to  exclaim,  but  I  did  not,  I  said: 
"And  it's  her  sister  who  is  Mrs.  Colclough?" 

"  Yes."  He  seemed  to  be  either  meditative  or 
disinclined  to  talk.  However,  my  friends  have 
sometimes  hinted  to  me  that  when  my  curiosity  is 
really  aroused,  I  am  capable  of  indiscretions. 

"  So  one  sister  rattles  about  in  an  expensive  motor- 
car, and  the  other  serves  behind  a  bar!  "  I  observed. 

He  glanced  at  me. 

"  I  expect  it's  a  bit  difficult  for  you  to  understand," 
he  answered;  "but  you  must  remember  you're  in  a 
democratic  district.  You  told  me  once  you  knew 
Exeter.  Well,  this  isn't  a  cathedral  town.  It's 
about  a  century  in  front  of  any  cathedral  town  in  the 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      141 

world.  Why,  my  good  sir,  there's  practically  no 
such  thing  as  class  distinction  here.  Both  my  grand- 
fathers were  working  potters.  Colclough's  father 
was  a  joiner  who  finished  up  as  a  builder.  If  Col- 
clough  makes  money  and  chooses  to  go  to  Paris  and 
get  the  best  motor-car  he  can,  why  in  Hades  should- 
n't his  wife  ride  in  it?  If  he  is  fond  of  music 
and  can  play  like  the  devil,  that  isn't  his  sister-in- 
law's  fault,  is  it?  His  wife  was  a  dressmaker,  at 
least  she  was  a  dressmaker's  assistant.  If  she  suits 
him,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  But  I  never  suggested " 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  stopped  me,  speaking  with  care- 
ful and  slightly  exaggerated  calmness,  "  I  think  you 
did.  If  the  difference  in  the  situations  of  the  two 
sisters  didn't  strike  you  as  very  extraordinary,  what 
did  you  mean?  " 

"  And  isn't  it  extraordinary?  "  I  demanded. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  considered  so  in  any  reasonable 
society,"  he  insisted.  "  The  fact  is,  my  good  sir, 
you  haven't  yet  quite  got  rid  of  Exeter.  I  do  be- 
lieve this  place  will  do  you  good.  Why,  damn  it! 
Colclough  didn't  marry  both  sisters.  You  think  he 
might  keep  the  other  sister?  Well,  he  might.  But 
suppose  his  wife  had  half-a-dozen  sisters,  should  he 
keep  them  all !  I  can  tell  you  we're  just  like  the  rest 
of  the  world,  we  find  no  difficulty  whatever  in  spend- 
ing all  the  money  we  make.  I  dare  say  Colclough 
would  be  ready  enough  to  keep  his  sister-in-law. 
I've  never  asked  him.  But  I'm  perfectly  certain 
that  his  sister-in-law  wouldn't  be  kept.  Not  much  1 


142     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

You  don't  know  these  women  down  here,  my  good 
sir.  She's  earned  her  living  at  one  thing  or  an- 
other all  her  life,  and  I  reckon  she'll  keep  on  earning 
it  till  she  drops.  She  is,  without  exception,  the  most 
exasperating  female  I  ever  came  across,  and  that's 
saying  something;  but  I  will  give  her  that  credit: 
she's  mighty  independent." 

"  How  exasperating?  "  I  asked,  surprised  to  hear 
this  from  him. 

"  7  don't  know.  But  she  is.  If  she  was  my 
wife  I  should  kill  her  one  night.  Don't  you  know 
what  I  mean?  " 

"  Yes,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  I  said.  "  But  you 
seemed  to  be  awfully  good  friends  with  her." 

"  No  use  being  anything  else.  No  woman  that 
it  ever  pleased  Providence  to  construct  is  going  to 
frighten  me  away  from  the  draught  Burton  that  you 
can  get  at  the  Tiger.  Besides,  she  can't  help  it. 
She  was  born  like  that." 

"  She  talks  quite  ordinarily,"  I  remarked. 

"  Oh !  It  isn't  what  she  says,  particularly.  It's 
her.  Either  you  like  her  or  you  don't  like  her. 
Now  Colclough  thinks  she's  all  right.  In  fact,  he 
admires  her." 

"  There's  one  thing,"  I  said,  "  she  jolly  near  cried 
to-night." 

"  Purely  mechanical !  "  said  Mr.  Brindley  with 
cruel  curtness. 

What  seemed  to  me  singular  was  that  the  relations 
which  had  existed  between  Miss  Annie  Brett  and 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      143 

Simon  Fuge  appeared  to  have  no  interest  whatever 
for  Mr.  Brindley.  He  had  not  even  referred  to 
them. 

"  You  were  just  beginning  to  draw  her  out,"  I 
ventured. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  thought'  I'd  just  see  what 
she'd  say.  No  one  ever  did  draw  that  woman  out." 

I  had  completely  lost  my  vision  of  her  in  the  boat, 
but  somehow  that  declaration  of  his,  "  no  one  ever 
did  draw  that  woman  out,"  partially  restored  the 
vision  to  me.  It  seemed  to  invest  her  with  agreeable 
mystery. 

"And  the  other  sister  —  Mrs.  Colclough?"  I 
questioned. 

"  I'm  taking  you  to  see  her  as  fast  as  I  can,"  he 
answered.  His  tone  implied  further:  "  I've  just 
humoured  one  of  your  whims,  now  for  the  other." 

"  But  tell  me  something  about  her." 

"  She's  the  best  bridge-player  —  woman,  that  is 
—  in  Bursley.  But  she  will  only  play  every  other 
night  for  fear  the  habit  should  get  hold  of  her. 
There  you've  got  her." 

"Younger  than  Miss  Brett?" 

"  Younger,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 

"  She  isn't  the  same  sort  of  person,  is  she?" 

"  She  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Brindley.  And  his  tone 
implied:  "  Thank  God  for  it!  " 

Very  soon  afterwards,  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  he 
drew  me  into  the  garden  of  a  large  house  which 
stood  back  from  the  road. 


144    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

VII 

It  was  quite  a  different  sort  of  house  from  Mr. 
Brindley's.  One  felt  that  immediately  on  entering 
the  hall,  which  was  extensive.  There  was  far  more 
money  and  considerably  less  taste  at  large  in  that 
house  than  in  the  other.  I  noticed  carved  furniture 
that  must  have  been  bought  with  a  coarse  and  a  gen- 
erous hand;  and  on  the  walls  a  diptych  by  Marcus 
Stone  portraying  the  course  of  true  love  clingingly 
draped.  It  was  just  like  Exeter  or  Onslow  Square. 
But  the  middle-aged  servant  who  received  us  struck 
at  once  the  same  note  as  had  sounded  so  agreeably 
at  Mr.  Brindley's.  She  seemed  positively  glad  to 
see  us;  our  arrival  seemed  to  afford  her  a  peculiar 
and  violent  pleasure,  as  though  the  hospitality  which 
we  were  about  to  accept  was  in  some  degree  hers  too. 
She  robbed  us  of  our  hats  with  ecstasy. 

Then  Mr.  Colclough  appeared. 

"  Delighted  you've  come,  Mr.  Loring!  "  he  said, 
shaking  my  hand  again.  He  said  it  with  fervour. 
He  obviously  was  delighted.  The  exercise  of  hos- 
pitality was  clearly  the  chief  joy  of  his  life;  at  least, 
if  he  had  a  greater  it  must  have  been  something 
where  keenness  was  excessive  beyond  the  point  of 
pleasure,  as  some  joys  are.  "  How  do,  Bob?  Your 
missis  has  just  come."  He  was  still  in  his  motoring 
clothes. 

Mr.  Brindley,  observing  my  gaze  transiently  on 
the  Marcus  Stones,  said:  "I  know  what  you're 
looking  for;  you're  looking  for  Sant's  '  Soul's  Awak- 


enlng.'  We  don't  keep  it  in  the  window;  you'll  see 
it  inside." 

"  Bob's  always  rotting  me  about  my  pictures," 
Mr.  Colclough  smiled  indulgently.  He  seemed  big 
enough  to  eat  his  friend,  and  his  rich,  heavy  voice 
rolled  like  thunder  about  the  hall.  "  Come  along 
in,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Half-a-second,  Ol,"  Mr.  Brindley  called  in  a 
conspiratorial  tone,  and,  turning  to  me :  "  Tell  him 
the  limerick.  You  know." 

"The  one  about  the  hayrick?" 

Mr.  Brindley  nodded. 

There  were  three  heads  close  together  for  a  space 
of  twenty  seconds  or  so,  and  then  a  fearful  explosion 
happened  —  the  unique,  tremendous  laughter  of  Mr. 
Colclough,  which  went  off  like  a  charge  of  melinite 
and  staggered  the  furniture. 

"  Now,  now !  "  a  feminine  voice  protested  from 
an  unseen  interior. 

I  was  taken  to  the  drawing-room,  an  immense 
apartment  with  an  immense  piano  black  as  mid- 
night in  it.  At  the  further  end  two  women  were 
seated  close  together  in  conversation,  and  I  dis* 
tinctly  heard  the  name  "  Fuge."  One  of  them  was 
Mrs.  Brindley,  in  a  hat.  The  other,  a  very  big  and 
stout  woman,  in  an  elaborate  crimson  garment  that 
resembled  a  teagown,  rose  and  came  to  meet  me 
with  extended  hand. 

"  My  wife  —  Mr.  Loring,"  said  Mr.  Oliver  Col- 
clough. 

"  So  glad  to  meet  you,"  she  said,  beaming  on  me 


146     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

with  all  her  husband's  pleasure.  "  Come  and  sit 
between  Mrs.  Brindley  and  me,  near  the  window, 
and  keep  us  in  order.  Don't  you  find  it  very  close  ? 
There  are  at  least  a  hundred  cats  in  the  garden." 

One  instantly  perceived  that  ceremonial  stiffness 
could  not  exist  in  the  same  atmosphere  with  Mrs. 
Oliver  Colclough.  During  the  whole  time  I  spent 
in  her  house  there  was  never  the  slightest  pause  in 
the  conversation.  Mrs.  Oliver  Colclough  prevented 
nobody  from  talking,  but  she  would  gladly  use  up 
every  odd  remnant  of  time  that  was  not  employed  by 
others.  No  scrap  was  too  small  for  her. 

"  So  this  is  the  other  one !  "  I  said  to  myself. 
"  Well,  give  me  this  one !  " 

Certainly  there  was  a  resemblance  between  the 
two,  in  the  general  formation  of  the  face,  and  the 
shape  of  the  shoulders ;  but  it  is  astonishing  that  two 
sisters  can  differ  as  these  did,  with  a  profound  and 
vital  difference.  In  Mrs.  Colclough  there  was  no 
coquetterie,  no  trace  of  that  more-than-half  suspicious 
challenge  to  a  man  that  one  feels  always  in  the  type 
to  which  her  sister  belonged.  The  notorious  battle 
of  the  sexes  was  assuredly  carried  on  by  her  in  a 
spirit  of  frank  muscular  gaiety  —  she  could,  I  am 
sure,  do  her  share  of  fighting.  Put  her  in  a  boat 
on  the  bosom  of  the  lake  under  starlight,  and  she 
would  not  by  a  gesture,  a  tone,  a  glance,  convey 
mysterious  nothings  to  you,  a  male.  She  would  not 
be  subtly  changed  by  the  sensuous  influences  of  the 
situation;  she  would  always  be  the  same  plump  and 
earthly  piece  of  candour.  Even  if  she  were  in  love 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     147 

with  you,  she  would  not  convey  mysterious  nothings 
in  such  circumstances.  If  she  were  in  love  with  you 
she  would  most  clearly  convey  unmysterious  and 
solid  somethings.  I  was  convinced  that  the  contrib- 
uting cause  to  the  presence  of  the  late  Simon  Fuge 
in  the  boat  on  Ham  Lake  on  the  historic  night  was 
Annie  the  superior  barmaid,  and  not  Sally  of  the 
automobile.  But  Mrs.  Colclough,  if  not  beautiful, 
was  a  very  agreeable  creation.  Her  amplitude  gave 
at  first  sight  an  exaggerated  impression  of  her  age; 
but  this  departed  after  more  careful  inspection.  She 
could  not  have  been  more  than  thirty.  She  was  very 
dark,  with  plenteous  and  untidy  black  hair,  thick 
eyebrows,  and  a  slight  moustache.  Her  eyes  were 
very  vivacious,  and  her  gestures,  despite  that  bulk, 
quick  and  graceful.  She  was  happy;  her  ideals  were 
satisfied;  it  was  probably  happiness  that  had  made 
her  stout.  Her  massiveness  was  apparently  no  grief 
to  her;  she  had  fallen  into  the  carelessness  which  is 
too  often  the  pitfall  of  women  who,  being  stout,  are 
content. 

"How  do,  missis?"  Mr.  Brindley  greeted  her, 
and  to  his  wife,  "  How  do,  missis?  But,  look  here, 
bright  star,  this  gadding  about  is  all  very  well,  but 
what  about  those  precious  kids  of  yours?  None  of 
'em  dead  yet,  I  hope." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Bob." 

"  I've  been  over  to  your  house,"  Mrs.  Colclough 
put  in.  "  Of  course  it  isn't  mumps.  The  child's  as 
right  as  rain.  So  I  brought  Mary  back  with  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  "  for  a  woman  who's 


148     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

never  had  any  children  your  knowledge  of  children 
beggars  description.  What  you  aren't  sure  you 
know  about  them  isn't  knowledge.  However " 

"  Listen,"  Mrs.  Colclough  replied,  with  a  delight- 
ful throwing-down  of  the  glove.  "  I'll  bet  you  a 
level  sovereign  that  child  hasn't  got  the  mumps.  So 
there !  And  Oliver  will  guarantee  to  pay  you." 

"  Ay !  "  said  Mr.  Colclough;  "  I'll  back  my  wife 
any  day." 

"  Don't  bet,  Bob,"  Mrs.  Brindley  enjoined  her 
husband  excitedly  in  her  high  treble. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 

"  Now  let's  sit  down."  Mrs.  Colclough  ad- 
dressed me  with  particular,  confidential  grace. 

We  three  exactly  filled  the  sofa.  I  have  often  sat 
between  two  women,  but  never  with  such  calm,  un- 
reserved, unapprehensive  comfortableness  as  I  ex- 
perienced between  Mrs.  Colclough  and  Mrs.  Brind- 
ley. It  was  just  as  if  I  had  known  them  for  years. 

"You'll  make  a  mess  of  that,  Ol,"  said  Mr. 
Brindley. 

The  other  two  men  were  at  some  distance,  in  front 
of  a  table,  on  which  were  two  champagne  bottles 
and  five  glasses,  and  a  plate  of  cakes.  "  Well,"  I 
said  to  myself,  "  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  cham- 
pagne, anyhow.  Mercurey!  Green  Chartreuse! 
Irish  whisky!  And  then  champagne!  And  a 
morning's  hard  work  to-morrow!  No!" 

Plop !  A  cork  flew  up  and  bounced  against  the 
ceiling. 

Mr.  Colclough  carefully  emptied  the  bottle  into 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      149 

the  glasses,  of  which  Mr.  Brindley  seized  two  and 
advanced  with  one  in  either  hand  for  the  women. 
It  was  the  host  who  offered  a  glass  to  me. 

"  No,  thanks  very  much,  I  really  can't,"  I  said 
in  a  very  firm  tone. 

My  tone  was  so  firm  that  it  startled  them.  They 
glanced  at  each  other  with  alarmed  eyes,  like  simple 
people  confronted  by  an  inexplicable  phenomenon. 

"  But  look  here,  mister !  "  said  Mr.  Colclough, 
pained,  "  we've  got  this  out  specially  for  you.  You 
don't  suppose  this  is  our  usual  tipple,  do  you  ?  " 

I  yielded.  I  could  do  no  less  than  sacrifice  myself 
to  their  enchanting  instinctive  kindness  of  heart.  "  I 
shall  be  dead  to-morrow,"  I  said  to  myself;  "  but  I 
shall  have  lived  to-night."  They  were  relieved,  but 
I  saw  that  I  had  given  them  a  shock  from  which  they 
could  not  instantaneously  recover.  Therefore  I  be- 
gan with  a  long  pull,  to  reassure  them. 

"  Mrs.  Brindley  has  been  telling  me  that  Simon 
Fuge  is  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Colclough  brightly,  as 
though  Mrs.  Brindley  had  been  telling  her  that  the 
price  of  mutton  had  gone  down. 

I  perceived  that  those  two  had  been  talking  over 
Simon  Fuge,  after  their  fashion. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  responded. 

"  Have  you  got  that  newspaper  in  your  pocket, 
Mr.  Loring?"  asked  Mrs.  Brindley. 

I  had. 

"No,"  I  said,  feeling  in  my  pockets;  "I  must 
have  left  it  at  your  house." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  that's  strange.     I  looked  for 


150    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

it  to  show  it  to  Mrs.  Colclough,  but  I  couldn't  see 
it." 

This  was  not  surprising.  I  did  not  want  Mrs. 
Colclough  to  read  the  journalistic  obituary  until  she 
had  given  me  her  own  obituary  of  Fuge. 

"  It  must  be  somewhere  about,"  I  said;  and  to 
Mrs.  Colclough :  "  I  suppose  you  knew  him  pretty 
well?" 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no !     I  only  met  him  once." 

"At  Ham?" 

"Yes.     What   are  you   going  to   do,   Oliver?" 

Her  husband  was  opening  the  piano. 

"  Bob  and  I  are  just  going  to  have  another  smack 
at  that  Brahms." 

"You  don't  expect  us  to  listen,  do  you?" 

"  I  expect  you  to  do  what  pleases  you,  missis," 
said  he.  "  I  should  be  a  bigger  fool  than  I  am  if 
I  expected  anything  else."  Then  he  smiled  at  me. 
"  No !  just  go  on  talking.  Ol  and  I'll  drown  you 
easy  enough.  Quite  short!  Back  in  five  minutes." 

The  two  men  placed  each  his  wine-glass  on  the 
space  on  the  piano  designed  for  a  candlestick,  lighted 
cigars,  and  sat  down  to  play. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Colclough  resumed,  in  a  lower,  more 
confidential  tone,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  music. 
"  You  see  there  was  a  whole  party  of  us  there,  and 
Mr.  Fuge  was  staying  at  the  hotel,  and  of  course  he 
knew  several  of  us." 

"  And  he  took  you  out  in  a  boat?  " 

"Me  and  Annie?  Yes.  Just  as  it  was  getting 
dusk  he  came  up  to  us  and  asked  us  if  we'd  go  for 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      151 

a  row.  Eh,  I  can  hear  him  asking  us  now !  I  asked 
him  if  he  could  row,  and  he  was  quite  angry.  So  we 
went,  to  quieten  him."  She  paused,  and  then 
laughed. 

"  Sally!  "  Mrs.  Brindley  protested.  "  You  know 
he's  dead!" 

"  Yes."  She  admitted  the  Tightness  of  the  pro- 
test. "  But  I  can't  help  it.  I  was  just  thinking  how 
he  got  his  feet  wet  in  pushing  the  boat  off."  She 
laughed  again.  "  When  we  were  safely  off,  some 
one  came  down  to  the  shore  and  shouted  to  Mr. 
Fuge  to  bring  the  boat  back.  You  know  his  quick 
way  of  talking."  (Here  she  began  to  imitate 
Fuge.)  "  '  I've  quarrelled  with  the  man  this  boat 
belongs  to.  Awful  feud!  Fact  is,  I'm  in  a  hostile 
country  here ! '  And  a  lot  more  like  that.  It 
seemed  he  had  quarrelled  with  everybody  in  Ham. 
He  wasn't  sure  if  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  would 
let  him  sleep  there  again.  He  told  us  all  about  his 
quarrels,  until  he  dropped  one  of  the  oars.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  funny  he  looked  in  the  moonlight 
when  he  dropped  the  oar.  '  There,  that's  your 
fault ! '  he  said.  '  You  make  me  talk  too  much 
about  myself,  and  I  get  excited.'  He  kept  striking 
matches  to  look  for  the  oar,  and  turning  the  boat 
round  and  round  with  the  other  oar.  '  Last 
match ! '  he  said.  '  We  shall  never  see  land  to- 
night.' Then  he  found  the  oar  again.  He  consid- 
ered we  were  saved.  Then  he  began  to  tell  us  about 
his  aunt.  *  You  know  I'd  no  business  to  be  here. 
I  came  down  from  London  for  my  aunt's  funeral, 


152    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  here  I  am  in  a  boat  at  night  with  two  pretty 
girls!  '  He  said  the  funeral  had  taught  him  one 
thing,  and  that  was  that  black  neckties  were  the  only 
possible  sort  of  necktie.  He  said  the  greatest  worry 
of  his  life  had  always  been  neckties;  but  he  wouldn't 
have  to  worry  any  more,  and  so  his  aunt  hadn't  died 
for  nothing.  I  assure  you  he  kept  on  talking  about 
neckties.  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Loring,  I  went  to  sleep 
i —  at  least  I  dozed  —  and  when  I  woke  up  he  was 
still  talking  about  neckties.  But  then  his  feet  be- 
gan to  get  cold.  I  suppose  it  was  because  they  were 
wet.  The  way  he  grumbled  about  his  feet  being 
cold!  I  remember  he  turned  his  coat  collar  up. 
He  wanted  to  get  on  shore  and  walk,  but  he'd  taken 
us  a  long  way  up  the  lake  by  that  time  and  he  saw 
we  were  absolutely  lost.  So  he  put  the  oars  in  the 
boat  and  stood  up  and  stamped  his  feet.  It  might 
have  upset  the  boat." 

"  How  did  it  end?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Well,  Annie  and  I  caught  the  train,  but  only 
just.  You  see  it  was  a  special  train,  so  they  kept 
it  for  us,  otherwise  we  should  have  been  in  a  nice 
fix." 

"So  you  have  special  trains  in  these  parts?" 

"  Why,  of  course !  It  was  the  annual  outing  of 
the  teachers  of  St.  Luke's  Sunday  School  and  their 
friends,  you  see.  So  we  had  a  special  train." 

At  this  point  the  duettists  came  to  the  end  of  a 
movement,  and  Mr.  Brindley  leaned  over  to  us  from 
his  stool,  glass  in  hand. 

"  The  railway  company  practically  owns  Ilam," 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE      153 

he  explained,  "  and  so  they  run  it  for  all  they're 
worth.  They  made  the  lake,  to  feed  the  canals, 
when  they  bought  the  canals  from  the  canal  com- 
pany. It's  an  artificial  lake,  and  the  railway  runs 
alongside  it.  A  very  good  scheme  of  the  company's. 
They  started  out  to  make  Ham  a  popular  resort,  and 
they've  made  it  a  popular  resort,  what  with  special 
trains  and  things.  But  try  to  get  a  special  train  to 
any  other  place  on  their  rotten  system,  and  you'll 
soon  see!  " 

"  How  big  is  the  lake  ?  "  I  asked. 

"How  long  is  it,  Ol?"  he  demanded  of  Col« 
clough.  "  A  couple  of  miles?  " 

"  Not  it !     About  a  mile.     Adagio !  " 

They  proceeded  with  Brahms. 

"  He  ran  with  you  all  the  way  to  the  station, 
didn't  he?"  Mrs.  Brindley  suggested  to  Mrs.  Col- 
clough. 

"  I  should  just  say  he  did!  "  Mrs.  Colclough  con- 
curred. "  He  wanted  to  get  warm,  and  then  he  was 
awfully  afraid  lest  we  should  miss  it." 

"  I  thought  you  were  on  the  lake  practically  all 
night!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  All  night !  Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  call 
all  night.  But  I  was  back  in  Bursley  before  eleven 
o'clock,  I'm  sure." 

I  then  contrived  to  discover  the  Gazette  in  an 
unsearched  pocket,  and  I  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Colclough 
to  read.  Mrs.  Brindley  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

There  was  no  slightest  movement  of  deprecation 
on  Mrs.  Colclough's  part.  She  amiably  smiled  as 


154    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

she  perused  the  Gazette's  version  of  Fuge's  version 
of  the  lake  episode.  Here  was  the  attitude  of  the 
woman  whose  soul  is  like  crystal.  It  seems  to  me 
that  most  women  would  have  blushed,  or  dissented, 
or  simulated  anger,  or  failed  to  conceal  vanity.  But 
Mrs.  Colclough  might  have  been  reading  a  fairy 
tale,  for  any  emotion  she  displayed. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  blandly;  "  from  the  things  Annie 
used  to  tell  me  about  him  sometimes,  I  should  say 
that  was  just  how  he  would  talk.  They  seem  to 
have  thought  quite  a  lot  of  him  in  London,  then?" 

"Oh,  rather!"  I  said.  "I  suppose  your  sister 
knew  him  pretty  well?  " 

"  Annie  ?     I  don't  know.     She  knew  him." 

I  distinctly  observed  a  certain  self-consciousness  in 
Mrs.  Colclough  as  she  made  this  reply.  Mrs. 
Brindley  had  risen,  and  with  wifely  attentiveness 
was  turning  over  the  music  pages  for  her  husband. 


vm 


Soon  afterwards,  for  me,  the  night  began  to  grow 
fantastic;  it  took  on  the  colour  of  a  gigantic  adven- 
ture. I  do  not  suppose  that  either  Mr.  Brindley  or 
Mr.  Colclough,  or  the  other  person  who  presently 
arrived,  regarded  it  as  anything  but  a  pleasant  con- 
viviality, but  to  a  man  of  my  constitution  and  habits 
it  was  an  almost  incredible  occurrence.  The  other 
person  was  the  book-collecting  doctor.  He  arrived 
with  a  discreet  tap  on  the  window  at  midnight,  to 
spend  the  evening.  Mrs.  Brindley  had  gone  home 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     155 

and  Mrs.  Colclough  had  gone  to  bed.  The  book- 
collecting  doctor  refused  champagne ;  he  was,  in  fact, 
very  rude  to  champagne  in  general.  He  had 
whisky.  And  those  astonishing  individuals,  Mes- 
sieurs Brindley  and  Colclough,  secretly  convinced 
of  the  justice  of  the  attack  on  champagne,  had  whisky 
too.  And  that  still  more  astonishing  individual, 
Loring  of  the  B.  M.,  joined  them.  It  was  the  hour 
of  limericks.  Limericks  were  demanded  for  the 
diversion  of  the  doctor,  and  I  furnished  them.  We 
then  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  doctor's  experiences 
that  day  amid  the  sturdy,  natural-minded  population 
of  a  mining  village  not  far  from  Bursley.  Seldom 
have  I  had  such  a  bath  in  the  pure  fluid  of  human 
nature.  All  sense  of  time  was  lost.  I  lived  in  an 
eternity.  I  could  not  suggest  to  my  host  that 
we  should  depart.  I  could,  however,  decline  more 
whisky.  And  I  could,  given  the  chance,  discourse 
with  gay  despair  concerning  the  miserable  wreck 
that  I  should  be  on  the  morrow  in  consequence  of 
this  high  living.  I  asked  them  how  I  could  be  ex- 
pected, in  such  a  state,  to  judge  delicate  points  of 
expertise  in  earthenware.  I  gave  them  a  brief 
sketch  of  my  customary  evening,  and  left  them  to 
compare  it  with  that  evening.  The  doctor  perceived 
that  I  was  serious.  He  gazed  at  me  with  pity,  as  if 
to  say:  "  Poor  frail  southern  organism!  It  ought 
to  be  in  bed,  with  nothing  inside  it  but  tea !  "  What 
he  did  actually  say  was :  "  You  come  round  to  my 
place,  I'll  soon  put  you  right!  "  "  Can  you  stop  me 
from  having  a  headache  to-morrow?"  I  eagerly 


156     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

asked.  "  I  think  so,"  he  said  with  calm  northern 
confidence. 

At  some  later  hour  Mr.  Brindley  and  I  "  went 
round."  Mr.  Colclough  would  not  come.  He  bade 
me  good-bye,  as  his  wife  had  done,  with  the  most 
extraordinary  kindness,  the  most  genuine  sorrow  at 
quitting  me,  the  most  genuine  pleasure  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  me  again. 

"  There  are  three  thousand  books  in  this  room  I  " 
I  said  to  myself,  as  I  stood  in  the  doctor's  electrically 
lit  library. 

"What  price  this  for  a  dog?"  Mr.  Brindley 
drew  my  attention  to  an  aristocratic  fox-terrier  that 
lay  on  the  hearth.  "Well,  Titus!  Is  it  sleepy? 
Well,  well!  How  many  firsts  has  he  won,  doc- 
tor?" 

"  Six,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  just  fix  you  up,  to 
begin  with,"  he  turned  to  me. 

After  I  had  been  duly  fixed  up  ("This'll  help 
you  to  sleep,  and  this'll  placate  your  '  god,'  "  said 
the  doctor),  I  saw  to  my  intense  surprise  that  an- 
other "  evening  "  was  to  be  instantly  superimposed 
on  the  "  evening  "  at  Mr.  Colclough's.  The  doc- 
tor and  Mr.  Brindley  carefully  and  deliberately 
lighted  long  cigars,  and  sank  deeply  into  immense 
arm-chairs ;  and  so  I  imitated  them  as  well  as  I  could 
in  my  feeble  southern  way.  We  talked  books.  We 
just  simply  enumerated  books  without  end,  praising 
or  damning  them,  and  arranged  authors  in  neat  pews, 
like  cattle  in  classes  at  an  agricultural  show.  No 
pastime  is  more  agreeable  to  people  who  have  the 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     157 

book  disease,  and  none  more  quickly  fleets  the  hours, 
and  none  is  more  delightfully  futile. 

Ages  elapsed,  and  suddenly,  like  a  gun  dischar- 
ging, Mr.  Brindley  said  — 

"  We  must  go  1" 

Of  all  the  things  that  happened  this  was  the  most 
astonishing. 

We  did  go. 

"  By  the  way,  doc.,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  in  the  doc- 
tor's wide  porch,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Simon 
Fuge  is  dead." 

"  Is  he?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes.  You've  got  a  couple  of  his  etchings, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  had.  But  I  sold 
them  several  months  ago." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Brindley  negligently;  "I 
didn't  know.  Well,  so  long!  " 

We  had  a  few  hundred  yards  to  walk  down  the 
silent,  wide  street,  where  the  gas-lamps  were  burn- 
ing with  the  strange,  endless  patience  that  gas-lamps 
have.  The  stillness  of  a  provincial  town  at  night 
is  quite  different  from  that  of  London,  we  might 
have  been  the  only  persons  alive  in  England. 

Except  for  a  feeling  of  unreality,  a  feeling  that 
the  natural  order  of  things  had  been  disturbed  by 
some  necromancer,  I  was  perfectly  well  the  same 
morning  at  breakfast,  as  the  doctor  had  predicted 
I  should  be.  When  I  expressed  to  Mr.  Brindley 
my  stupefaction  at  this  happy  sequel,  he  showed  a 
polite  but  careless  inability  to  follow  my  line  of 


158     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

thought.  It  appeared  that  he  was  always  well  at 
breakfast,  even  when  he  did  stay  up  "  a  little  later 
than  usual."  It  appeared  further  that  he  always 
breakfasted  at  a  quarter  to  nine,  and  read  the  Man- 
chester Guardian  during  the  meal,  to  which  his  wife 
did  or  did  not  descend  —  according  to  the  moods 
of  the  nursery;  and  that  he  reached  his  office  at  a 
quarter  to  ten.  That  morning  the  mood  of  the  nur- 
sery was  apparently  unpropitious.  He  and  I  were 
alone.  I  begged  him  not  to  pretermit  his  Guardian, 
but  to  examine  it  and  give  me  the  news.  He  agreed, 
scarcely  unwilling. 

"  There's  a  paragraph  in  the  London  correspond- 
ence about  Fuge,"  he  announced  from  behind  the 
paper. 

"  What  do  they  say  about  him?  " 

"  Nothing  particular." 

"  Now  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  I  said. 

I  had  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  the  sisters 
and  Simon  Fuge.  And  in  spite  of  everything  that  I 
had  heard  —  in  spite  even  of  the  facts  that  the  lake 
had  been  dug  by  a  railway  company,  and  that  the  ex- 
cursion to  the  lake  had  been  an  excursion  of  Sunday- 
school  teachers  and  their  friends  —  I  was  still 
haunted  by  certain  notions  concerning  Simon  Fuge 
and  Annie  Brett.  Annie  Brett's  flush,  her  unshed 
tears;  and  the  self-consciousness  shown  by  Mrs.  Col- 
clough  when  I  had  pointedly  mentioned  her  sister's 
name  in  connection  with  Simon  Fuge's:  these  were 
surely  indications!  And  then  the  doctor's  recitals 
of  manners  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Burs- 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     159 

ley  went  to  support  my  theory  that  even  in  Stafford- 
shire life  was  very  much  life. 

"What?"  demanded  Mr.  Brindley. 

"Was  Miss  Brett  ever  Simon  Fuge's  mistress?" 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Brindley,  miraculously  fresh 
and  smiling,  entered  the  room. 

"  Wife,"  said  Mr.  Brindley,  without  giving  her 
time  to  greet  me,  "  what  do  you  think  he's  just 
asked  me?  " 

"/don't  know." 

"  He's  just  asked  me  if  Annie  Brett  was  ever 
Simon  Fuge's  mistress." 

She  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Annie  Brett?"  She  began  to  laugh  gently. 
"  Oh !  Mr.  Loring,  you  really  are  too  funny !  " 
She  yielded  to  her  emotions.  It  may  be  said  that 
she  laughed  as  they  can  laugh  in  the  Five  Towns. 
She  cried.  She  had  to  wipe  away  the  tears  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"What  on  earth  made  you  think  so?"  she  en- 
quired, after  recovery. 

"I  —  had  an  idea,"  I  said  lamely.  "  He  always 
made  out  that  one  of  those  two  sisters  was  so  much 
to  him,  and  I  knew  it  couldn't  be  Mrs.  Colclough." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  ask  anybody  down  here,  any- 
body !  And  see  what  they'll  say." 

"  No,"  Mr.  Brindley  put  in,  "  don't  go  about  ask- 
ing anybody.  You  might  get  yourself  disliked. 
But  you  may  take  it  it  isn't  true." 

"  Most  certainly,"  his  wife  concurred  with  seri- 
ousness. 


i6o    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  We  reckon  to  know  something  about  Simon 
Fuge  down  here,"  Mr.  Brindley  added.  "  Also 
about  the  famous  Annie." 

"  He  must  have  flirted  with  her  a  good  bit,  any- 
how," I  said. 

"  Oh,  flirt! "  ejaculated  Mr.  Brindley. 

I  had  a  sudden  dazzling  vision  of  the  great  truth 
that  the  people  of  the  Five  Towns  have  no  particu- 
lar use  for  half-measures  in  any  department  of  life. 
So  I  accepted  the  final  judgment  with  meekness. 


IX 

I  returned  to  London  that  evening,  my  work  done, 
and  the  municipality  happily  flattered  by  my  judg- 
ment of  the  slip-decorated  dishes.  Mr.  Brindley 
had  found  time  to  meet  me  at  the  midday  meal,  and 
he  had  left  his  office  earlier  than  usual  in  order  to 
help  me  to  drink  his  wife's  afternoon  tea.  About 
an  hour  later  he  picked  up  my  little  bag,  and  said 
that  he  should  accompany  me  to  the  little  station  in 
the  midst  of  the  desert  of  cinders  and  broken  crock- 
ery, and  even  see  me  as  far  as  Knype,  where  I  had  to 
take  the  London  express.  No,  there  are  no  half- 
measures  in  the  Five  Towns.  Mrs.  Brindley  stood 
on  her  doorstep,  with  her  eldest  infant  on  her  shoul- 
der, and  waved  us  off.  The  infant  cried,  expressing 
his  own  and  his  mother's  grief  at  losing  a  guest.  It 
seems  as  if  people  are  born  hospitable  in  the  Five 
Towns. 

We  had  not  walked  more  than  a  hundred  yards 


up  the  road  when  a  motor-car  thundered  down  upon 
us  from  the  opposite  direction.  It  was  Mr.  Col- 
clough's,  and  Mr.  Colclough  was  driving  it.  Mr. 
Brindley  stopped  his  friend  with  the  authoritative 
gesture  of  a  policeman. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Ol?" 

"  Home,  lad.  Sorry  you're  leaving  us  so  soon, 
Mr.  Loring." 

"  You're  mistaken,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Brindley. 
"  You're  just  going  to  run  us  down  to  Knype  station, 
first." 

"  I  must  look  slippy,  then,"  said  Mr.  Colclough. 
'  You  can  look  as  slippy  as  you  like,"  said  Mr. 
Brindley. 

In  another  fifteen  seconds  we  were  in  the  car,  and 
it  had  turned  round,  and  was  speeding  towards 
Knype.  A  feverish  journey  1  We  passed  electric 
cars  every  minute,  and  for  three  miles  were  contin- 
ually twisting  round  the  tails  of  ponderous,  creaking 
and  excessively  deliberate  carts  that  dropped  a  trail 
of  small  coal,  or  huge  barrels  on  wheels  that  dripped 
something  like  the  finest  Devonshire  cream,  or  brew- 
er's drays  that  left  nothing  behind  them  save  a  lus- 
cious odour  of  malt.  It  was  a  breathless  slither  over 
unctuous  black  mud  through  a  long  winding  canon 
of  brown-red  houses  and  shops,  with  a  glimpse  here 
and  there  of  a  grey-green  park,  a  canal,  or  a  foot- 
ball field. 

"  I  daredn't  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Colclough,  setting 
us  down  at  the  station,  "  I  was  afraid  of  a  skid." 
He  had  not  spoken  during  the  transit. 


1 62     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Don't   put   on   side,    Ol,"    said   Mr.    Brindley. 
"  What  time  did  you  get  up  this  morning?  " 

"  Eight  o'clock,  lad.  I  was  at  th'  works  at  nine." 
He  flew  off  to  escape  my  thanks,  and  Mr.  Brindley 
and  I  went  into  the  station.  Owing  to  the  celerity 
of  the  automobile  we  had  half-an-hour  to  wait.  We 
spent  it  chiefly  at  the  bookstall.  While  we  were 
there  the  extra-special  edition  of  the  Staffordshire 
Signal,  affectionately  termed  "  the  local  rag  "  by  its 
readers,  arrived,  and  we  watched  a  newsboy  affix  its 
poster  to  a  board.  The  poster  ran  thus: 

HANBRIDGE  RATES 
LIVELY   MEETING 


KNYPE    F.C. 
NEW  CENTRE-FORWARD 


ALL  WINNERS  AND  S.P. 

Now,  close  by  this  poster  was  the  poster  of  the 
Daily  Telegraph,  arid  among  the  items  offered  by 
the  Daily  Telegraph  was:  "  Death  of  Simon  Fuge." 
I  could  not  forbear  pointing  out  to  Mr.  Brindley  the 
difference  between  the  two  posters.  A  conversation 
ensued;  and  amid  the  rumbling  of  trains  and  the 
rough  stir  of  the  platform  we  got  back  again  to 
Simon  Fuge,  and  Mr.  Brindley's  tone  gradually 
grew,  if  not  acrid,  a  little  impatient. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "rates  are  rates,  especially 
in  Hanbridge.  And  let  me  tell  you  that  last  season 


THE  DEATH  OF  SIMON  FUGE     163 

Knype  Football  Club  jolly  nearly  got  thrown  out  of 
the  First  League.  The  constitution  of  the  team  for 
this  next  season  —  why,  damn  it,  it's  a  question  of 
national  importance !  You  don't  understand  these 
things.  If  Knype  Football  Club  was  put  into  the 
League  Second  Division,  ten  thousand  homes  would 
go  into  mourning.  Who  the  devil  was  Simon 
Fuge?" 

They  joke  with  such  extraordinary  seriousness  in 
the  Five  Towns  that  one  is  somehow  bound  to  pre- 
tend that  they  are  not  joking.  So  I  replied  — 

"  He  was  a  great  artist.  And  this  is  his  native 
district.  Surely  you  ought  to  be  proud  of  him !  " 

"  He  may  have  been  a  great  artist,"  said  Mr. 
Brindley,  "  or  he  may  not.  But  for  us  he  was 
simply  a  man  who  came  of  a  family  that  had  a 
bad  reputation  for  talking  too  much  and  acting  the 
goat!" 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  we  shall  see  —  in  fifty  years." 

"That's  just  what  we  shan't,"  said  he.  "We 
shall  be  where  Simon  Fuge  is  —  dead !  However, 
perhaps  we  are  proud  of  him.  But  you  don't  ex- 
pect us  to  show  it,  do  you?  That's  not  our  style." 

He  performed  the  quasi-winking  phenomenon 
with  his  eyes.  It  was  his  final  exhibition  of  it  to 
me. 

"  A  strange  place!  "  I  reflected,  as  I  ate  my  din- 
ner in  the  dining-car,  with  the  pressure  of  Mr. 
Brindley's  steely  clasp  still  affecting  my  right  hand, 
and  the  rich,  honest  cordiality  of  his  au  revoir  in  my 
heart.  "  A  place  that  is  passing  strange !  " 


1 64    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

And  I  thought  further:  He  may  have  been  a 
boaster,  and  a  chatterer,  and  a  man  who  suffered 
from  cold  feet  at  the  wrong  moments!  And  the 
Five  Towns  may  have  got  the  better  of  him,  now. 
But  that  portrait  of  the  little  girl  in  the  Wedgwood 
Institution  is  waiting  there,  right  in  the  middle  of 
the  Five  Towns.  And  one  day  the  Five  Towns  will 
have  to  "  give  it  best."  They  can  say  what  they 
like!  .  .  .  What  eyes  the  fellow  had,  when 
he  was  in  the  right  company! 


THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 


MRS.  BRINDLEY  looked  across  the  lunch- 
table  at  her  husband  with  glinting,  eager 
eyes,  which  showed  that  there  was  some- 
thing unusual  in  the  brain  behind  them. 

"  Bob,"  she  said,  factitiously  calm.  "  You  don't 
know  what  I've  just  remembered!  " 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"  It's  only  grandma's  birthday  to-day !  " 

My  friend  Robert  Brindley,  the  architect,  struck 
the  table  with  a  violent  fist,  making  his  little  boys 
blink,  and  then  he  said  quietly: 

"  The  deuce!" 

I  gathered  that  grandmamma's  birthday  had  been 
forgotten  and  that  it  was  not  a  festival  that  could 
be  neglected  with  impunity.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brindley  had  evidently  a  humorous  appreciation  of 
crises,  contretemps,  and  those  collisions  of  circum- 
stances which  are  usually  called  "  junctures "  for 
short.  I  could  have  imagined  either  of  them  saying 
to  the  other:  "  Here's  a  funny  thing!  The  house 
is  on  fire  I  "  And  then  yielding  to  laughter  as  they 
rah  for  buckets.  Mrs.  Brindley,  in  particular, 
laughed  now;  she  gazed  at  the  table-cloth  and 

165 


1 66    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

laughed  almost  silently  to  herself;  though  it  ap- 
peared that  their  joint  forgetfulness  might  result  in 
temporary  estrangement  from  a  venerable  ancestor 
who  was  also,  birthdays  being  duly  observed,  a  con- 
tinual fount  of  rich  presents  in  specie. 

Robert  Brindley  drew  a  time-table  from  his  breast- 
pocket with  the  rapid  gesture  of  habit.  All  men  of 
business  in  the  Five  Towns  seem  to  carry  that  time- 
table in  their  breast-pockets.  Then  he  examined 
his  watch  carefully. 

"  You'll  have  time  to  dress  up  your  progeny  and 
catch  the  2:05.  It  makes  the  connection  at  Knype 
for  Axe." 

The  two  little  boys,  aged  perhaps  four  and  six, 
who  had  been  ladling  the  messy  contents  of  specially 
deep  plates  on  to  their  bibs,  dropped  their  spoons 
and  began  to  babble  about  gray-granny,  and  one  of 
them  insisted  several  times  that  he  must  wear  his 
new  gaiters. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brindley  to  her  husband,  after 
reflection.  "  And  a  fine  old  crowd  there'll  be  in 
the  train  —  with  this  foot-ball  match !  " 

"  Can't  be  helped !  Now  you  kids, 

hook  it  upstairs  to  nurse." 

"  And  what  about  you?  "  asked  Mrs.  Brindley. 

"  You  must  tell  the  old  lady  I'm  kept  by  busi- 
ness." 

"  I  told  her  that  last  year,  and  you  know  what 
happened." 

"  Well,"  said  Brindley.  "  Here  Loring's  just 
come.  You  don't  expect  me  to  leave  him,  do  you? 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     167 

Or  have  you  had  the  beautiful  idea  of  taking  him 
over  to  Axe  to  pass  a  pleasant  Saturday  afternoon 
with  your  esteemed  grandmother?" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Brindley.     "  Hardly  that!  " 

"Well,  then?" 

The  boys,  having  first  revolved  on  their  axes,  slid 
down  from  their  high  chairs  as  though  from  horses. 

"  Look  here,"  I  said.  "  You  mustn't  mind  me. 
I  shall  be  all  right." 

"Ha-ha!"  shouted  Brindley.  "I  seem  to  see 
you  turned  loose  alone  in  this  amusing  town  on  a 
winter  afternoon.  I  seem  to  see  you !  " 

"  I  could  stop  in  and  read,"  I  said,  eyeing  the 
multitudinous  books  on  every  wall  of  the  dining- 
room.  The  house  was  dadoed  throughout  with 
books. 

"Rot!"  said  Brindley. 

This  was  only  my  third  visit  to  his  home  and  to 
the  Five  Towns,  but  he  and  I  had  already  become 
curiously  intimate.  My  first  two  visits  had  been  oc- 
casioned by  official  pilgrimages  as  a  British  Museum 
expert  in  ceramics.  The  third  was  for  a  purely 
friendly  week-end,  and  had  no  pretext.  The  fact 
is,  I  was  drawn  to  the  astonishing  district  and  its 
astonishing  inhabitants.  The  Five  Towns,  to  me, 
was  like  the  East  to  those  who  have  smelt  the  East: 
it  "  called." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  could  do,"  said  Mrs. 
Brindley.  "  We  could  put  him  on  to  Dr.  Stirling." 

"So  we  could!"  Brindley  agreed.  "Wife,  this 
is  one  of  your  bright,  intelligent  days.  We'll  put 


1 68     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

you  on  to  the  doctor,  Loring.  I'll  impress  on  him 
that  he  must  keep  you  constantly  amused  till  I  get 
back,  which  I  fear  it  won't  be  early.  This  is  what 
we  call  manners,  you  know, —  to  invite  a  fellow 
creature  to  travel  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  spend 
two  days  here,  and  then  to  turn  him  out  before  he's 
been  in  the  house  an  hour.  It's  us,  that  is!  But 
the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  the  birthday  business 
might  be  a  bit  serious.  It  might  easily  cost  me 
fifty  quid  and  no  end  of  diplomacy.  If  you  were 
a  married  man  you'd  know  that  the  ten  plagues  of 
Egypt  are  simply  nothing  in  comparison  with  your 
wife's  relations.  And  she's  over  eighty,  the  old 
lady." 

"  /'ll  give  you  ten  plagues  of  Egypt !  "  Mrs. 
Brindley  menaced  her  spouse,  as  she  wafted  the  boys 
from  the  room.  "  Mr.  Loring,  do  take  some  more 
of  that  cheese  if  you  fancy  it."  She  vanished. 

Within  ten  minutes  Brindley  was  conducting  me 
to  the  doctor's,  whose  house  was  on  the  way  to  the 
station.  In  its  spacious  porch,  he  explained  the  cir- 
cumstances in  six  words,  depositing  me  like  a  parcel. 
The  doctor,  who  had  once  by  mysterious  medica- 
ments saved  my  frail  organism  from  the  conse- 
quences of  one  of  Brindley's  Falstaffian  "  nights," 
hospitably  protested  his  readiness  to  sacrifice  patients 
to  my  pleasure. 

"  It'll  be  a  chance  for  Macllroy,"  said  he. 

"Who's  Macllroy?"  I  asked. 

"  Macllroy  is  another  Scotchman,"  growled 
Brindley.  "  Extraordinary  how  they  stick  together! 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     169 

When  he  wanted  an  assistant,  do  you  suppose  he 
looked  about  for  some  one  in  the  district,  some  one 
who  understood  us  and  loved  us  and  could  take  a 
hand  at  bridge?  Not  he!  Off  he  goes  to  Cupar, 
or  somewhere,  and  comes  back  with  another  stage 
Scotchman,  named  Macllroy.  Now  listen  here, 
Doc!  A  charge  to  keep  you  have,  and  mind  you 
keep  it,  or  I'll  never  pay  your  confounded  bill. 
We'll  knock  on  the  window  to-night  as  we  come 
back.  In  the  meantime  you  can  show  Loring  your 
etchings,  and  pray  for  me."  And  to  me :  "  Here's 
a  latchkey."  With  no  further  ceremony,  he  hur- 
ried away  to  join  his  wife  and  children  at  Bleak- 
ridge  Station.  In  such  singular  manner  was  I  trans- 
ferred forcibly  from  host  to  host. 

II 

The  doctor  and  I  resembled  each  other  in  this: 
that  there  was  no  offensive  affability  about  either  of 
us.  Though  abounding  in  good  nature,  we  could 
not  become  intimate  by  a  sudden  act  of  volition. 
Our  conversation  was  difficult,  unnatural,  and  by 
gusts  falsely  familiar.  He  displayed  to  me  his 
bachelor  house,  his  etchings,  a  few  specimens  of 
modern  rouge  fiambe  ware  made  at  Knype,  his 
whisky,  his  celebrated  prize-winning  fox-terrier 
Titus,  the  largest  collection  of  books  in  the  Five 
Towns,  and  photographs  of  Marischal  College, 
Aberdeen.  Then  we  fell  flat,  socially  prone.  Sit- 
ting in  his  study,  with  Titus  between  us  on  the 
hearthrug,  we  knew  no  more  what  to  say  or  do. 


170    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

I  regretted  that  Brindley's  wife's  grandmother 
should  have  been  born  on  a  fifteenth  of  February. 
Brindley  was  a  vivacious  talker,  he  could  be  trusted 
to  talk.  I,  too,  am  a  good  talker  —  with  another 
good  talker.  With  a  bad  talker  I  am  just  a  little 
worse  than  he  is.  The  doctor  said  abruptly  after 
a  nerve-trying  silence  that  he  had  forgotten  a  most 
important  call  at  Hanbridge,  and  would  I  care  to 
go  with  him  in  the  car?  I  was  and  still  am  con- 
vinced that  he  was  simply  inventing.  He  wanted 
to  break  the  sinister  spell  by  getting  out  of  the 
house,  and  he  had  not  the  face  to  suggest  a  sortie 
into  the  streets  of  the  Five  Towns  as  a  promenade 
of  pleasure. 

So  we  went  forth,  splashing  warily  through  the 
rich  mud  and  the  dank  mist  of  Trafalgar  Road,  past 
all  those  strange  little  Indian-red  houses,  and  ragged 
empty  spaces,  and  poster-hoardings,  and  rounded 
kilns,  and  high  smoking  chimneys,  up  hill,  down  hill, 
and  up  hill  again,  encountering  and  overtaking  many 
electric  trams  that  dipped  and  rose  like  ships  at  sea, 
into  Crown  Square,  the  centre  of  Hanbridge,  the 
metropolis  of  the  Five  Towns.  And  while  the  doc- 
tor paid  his  mysterious  call,  I  stared  around  me  at 
the  large  shops  and  the  banks  and  the  gilded  hotels. 
Down  the  radiating  street-vistas  I  could  make  out 
the  facades  of  halls,  theatres,  chapels.  Trams 
rumbled  continually  in  and  out  of  the  square.  They 
seemed  to  enter  casually,  to  hesitate  a  few  moments 
as  if  at  a  loss,  and  then  to  decide  with  a  nonchalant 
clang  of  bells  that  they  might  as  well  go  off  some- 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     171 

where  else  in  search  of  something  more  interesting. 
They  were  rather  like  human  beings  who  are  con- 
demned to  live  for  ever  in  a  place  of  which  they 
are  sick  beyond  the  expressiveness  of  words. 

And  indeed  the  influence  of  Crown  Square,  with 
its  large  effects  of  terra  cotta,  plate  glass,  and  gold 
letters,  all  under  a  heavy  skyscape  of  drab  smoke, 
was  depressing.  A  few  very  seedy  men  (sharply 
contrasting  with  the  fine  delicacy  of  costly  things  be- 
hind plate-glass)  stood  doggedly  here  and  there  in 
the  mud,  immobilised  by  the  gloomy  enchantment  of 
the  square.  Two  of  them  turned  to  look  at  Stir- 
ling's motor-car  and  me.  They  gazed  fixedly  for  a 
long  time,  and  then  one  said,  only  his  lips  moving: 

"  Has  Tommy  stood  thee  that  there  quart  o' 
beer  as  he  promised  thee?  " 

No  reply,  no  response  of  any  sort,  for  a  further 
long  period !  Then  the  other  said,  with  grim  resig- 
nation : 

"Ay!" 

The  conversation  ceased,  having  made  a  little 
oasis  in  the  dismal  desert  of  their  silent  scrutiny  of 
the  car.  Except  for  an  occasional  stamp  of  the  foot 
they  never  moved.  They  just  doggedly  and  indif- 
ferently stood,  blown  upon  by  all  the  nipping 
draughts  of  the  square,  and  as  it  might  be  sinking 
deeper  and  deeper  into  its  dejection.  As  for  me, 
instead  of  desolating,  the  harsh  disconsolateness  of 
the  scene  seemed  to  uplift  me;  I  savoured  it  with 
joy,  as  one  savours  the  melancholy  of  a  tragic  work 
of  art. 


172     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  We  might  go  down  to  the  Signal  offices,  and 
worry  Buchanan  a  bit,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully 
when  he  came  back  to  the  car.  This  was  the  second 
of  his  inspirations. 

Buchanan,  of  whom  I  had  heard,  was  another 
Scotchman  and  the  editor  of  the  sole  daily  organ  of 
the  Five  Towns,  an  evening  newspaper  cried  all  day 
in  the  streets  and  read  by  the  entire  population.  Its 
green  sheet  appeared  to  be  a  permanent  waving  fea- 
ture of  the  main  thoroughfares.  The  offices  lay 
round  a  corner  close  by,  and  as  we  drew  up  in  front 
of  them  a  crowd  of  tattered  urchins  interrupted  their 
diversions  in  the  sodden  road  to  celebrate  our 
glorious  arrival  by  unanimously  yelling  at  the  top  of 
their  strident  and  hoarse  voices: 

"  Hooray !     Hoo— bl— dy— ray !  " 

Abashed,  I  followed  my  doctor  into  the  shelter  of 
the  building,  a  new  edifice,  capacious  and  consider- 
able, but  horribly  faced  with  terra  cotta,  and  quite 
unimposing,  lacking  in  the  spectacular  effect;  like 
nearly  everything  in  the  Five  Towns,  carelessly  and 
scornfully  ugly!  The  mean,  swinging  double-doors 
returned  to  the  assault  when  you  pushed  them,  and 
hit  you  viciously.  In  a  dark,  countered  room 
marked  "  Enquiries  "  there  was  nobody. 

"  Hi,  there !  "  called  the  doctor. 

A  head  appeared  at  a  door. 

"  Mr.  Buchanan  upstairs?  " 
'  Yes,"  snapped  the  head,  and  disappeared. 

Up  a  dark  staircase  we  went,  and  at  the  summit 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     173 

were  half  flung  back  again  by  another  self-acting 
door. 

In  the  room  to  which  we  next  came  an  old  man 
and  a  youngish  one  were  bent  over  a  large,  littered 
table,  scribbling  on  and  arranging  pieces  of  grey 
tissue  paper  and  telegrams.  Behind  the  old  man 
stood  a  boy.  Neither  of  them  looked  up. 

"Mr.  Buchanan  in  his "  the  doctor  began 

to  question.  "  Oh  I  There  you  are  1  " 

The  editor  was  standing  in  hat  and  muffler  at  the 
window,  gazing  out.  His  age  was  about  that  of 
the  doctor,  forty  or  so;  and  like  the  doctor  he  was 
rather  stout  and  clean-shaven.  Their  Scotch  accents 
mingled  in  greeting,  the  doctor's  being  the  more 
marked.  Buchanan  shook  my  hand  with  a  certain 
courtliness,  indicating  that  he  was  well  accustomed 
to  receive  strangers.  As  an  expert  in  small  talk, 
however,  he  shone  no  brighter  than  his  visitors,  and 
the  three  of  us  stood  there  by  the  window  awk- 
wardly, in  the  heaped  disorder  of  the  room,  while 
the  other  two  men  scratched  and  fidgeted  with  bits 
of  paper  at  the  soiled  table. 

Suddenly  and  savagely  the  old  man  turned  on  the 
boy: 

;'  What  the  hades  are  you  waiting  there  for?  " 

"  I  thought  there  was  something  else,  sir." 

"  Sling  your  hook." 

Buchanan  winked  at  Stirling  and  me  as  the  boy 
slouched  off  and  the  old  man  blandly  resumed  his 
writing. 


174    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  look  over  the  place?" 
Buchanan  suggested  politely  to  me.  "  I'll  come  with 
you.  It's  all  I'm  fit  for  to-day.  .  .  .  'Flu!" 
He  glanced  at  Stirling,  and  yawned. 

'  Ye  ought  to  be  in  bed,"  said  Stirling. 

"  Yes.  I  know.  I've  known  it  for  twelve  years. 
I  shall  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  I  get  a  bit  of  time  to 
myself.  Well,  will  you  come?  The  half-time  re- 
sults are  beginning  to  come  in." 

A  telephone-bell  rang  impatiently. 

"  You  might  just  see  what  that  is,  boss,"  said  the 
old  man  without  looking  up. 

Buchanan  went  to  the  telephone  and  replied 
into  it:  "Yes?  What?  Oh!  Myatt?  Yes, 
he's  playing.  ...  Of  course  I'm  sure !  Good- 
bye." He  turned  to  the  old  man:  "It's  another 
of  'em  wanting  to  know  if  Myatt  is  playing.  Bir- 
mingham, this  time." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  still  writing. 

"  It's  because  of  the  betting,"  Buchanan  glanced 
at  me.  "  The  odds  are  on  Knype  now, —  three  to 
two." 

"  If  Myatt  is  playing,  Knype  have  got  me  to 
thank  for  it,"  said  the  doctor,  surprisingly. 

"You?" 

"  Me !  He  fetched  me  to  his  wife  this  morning. 
She's  nearing  -her  confinement.  False  alarm.  I 
guaranteed  him  at  least  another  twelve  hours." 

"  Oh!     So  that's  it,  is  it?  "  Buchanan  murmured. 

Both  the  sub-editors  raised  their  heads. 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  doctor. 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     175 

"  Some  people  were  saying  he'd  quarrelled  with 
the  trainer  again,  and  was  shamming,"  said 
Buchanan.  "  But  I  didn't  believe  that.  There's 
no  hanky-panky  about  Jos  Myatt,  anyhow." 

I  learnt  in  answer  to  my  questions  that  a  great 
and  terrible  football  match  was  at  that  moment  in 
progress  at  Knype,  a  couple  of  miles  away,  between 
the  Knype  Club  and  the  Manchester  Rovers.  It 
was  conveyed  to  me  that  the  importance  of  this 
match  was  almost  national,  and  that  the  entire  dis- 
trict was  practically  holding  its  breath  till  the  result 
should  be  known.  The  half-time  result  was  one 
goal  each. 

"  If  Knype  lose,"  said  Buchanan  explanatorily, 
"  they'll  find  themselves  pushed  out  of  the  First 
League  at  the  end  of  the  season.  That's  a  cert 
.  .  .  one  of  the  oldest  clubs  in  England !  Semi- 
finalists  for  the  English  Cup  in  '78." 

"  '79,"  corrected  the  elder  sub-editor. 

I  gathered  that  the  crisis  was  grave. 

"  And  Myatt's  the  captain,  I  suppose?  "  said  I. 

"  No.  But  he's  the  finest  full-back  in  the 
League." 

I  then  had  a  vision  of  Myatt  as  a  great  man.  By 
an  effort  of  the  imagination  I  perceived  that  the 
equivalent  of  the  fate  of  nations  depended  upon 
him.  I  recollected,  now,  large  yellow  posters  on 
the  hoardings  we  had  passed,  with  the  names  of 
Knype  and  of  Manchester  Rovers  in  letters  a  foot 
high  and  the  legend  "  League  match  at  Knype  " 
over  all.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  heroic  name  of 


176     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Jos  Myatt,  if  truly  he  were  the  finest  full-back  in 
the  League,  if  truly  his  presence  or  absence  affected 
the  betting  as  far  off  as  Birmingham,  ought  also  to 
have  been  on  the  posters,  together  with  possibly  his 
portrait.  I  saw  Jos  Myatt  as  a  matador,  with  a 
long  ribbon  of  scarlet  necktie  down  his  breast,  and 
embroidered  trousers. 

"  Why,"  said  Buchanan,  "  if  Knype  drop  into  the 
Second  Division,  they'll  never  pay  another  dividend  I 
It'll  be  all  up  with  first  class  football  in  the  Five 
Towns  1  " 

The  interests  involved  seemed  to  grow  more  com- 
plicated. And  here  I  had  been  in  the  district  nearly 
four  hours  without  having  guessed  that  the  district 
was  quivering  in  the  tense  excitement  of  gigantic  is- 
sues! And  here  was  this  Scotch  doctor,  at  whose 
word  the  great  Myatt  would  have  declined  to  play, 
never  saying  a  syllable  about  the  affair,  until  a 
chance  remark  from  Buchanan  loosened  his  tongue. 
But  all  doctors  are  strangely  secretive.  Secretive- 
ness  is  one  of  their  chief  private  pleasures. 

"Come  and  see  the  pigeons,  eh?"  said 
Buchanan. 

"  Pigeons !  "  I  repeated. 

"  We  give  the  results  of  over  a  hundred  matches 
in  our  Football  Edition,"  said  Buchanan,  and  added: 
"  not  counting  Rugby." 

As  we  left  the  room  two  boys  dodged  round  us 
into  it,  bearing  telegrams. 

In  a  moment  we  were,  in  the  most  astonishing 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     177 

manner,  on  a  leaden  roof  of  the  Signal  offices.  High 
factory  chimneys  rose  over  the  horizon  of  slates  on 
every  side,  blowing  thick  smoke  into  the  general 
murk  of  the  afternoon  sky,  and  crossing  the  western 
crimson  with  long  pennons  of  black.  And  out  of 
the  murk  there  came  from  afar  a  blue-and-white 
pigeon  which  circled  largely  several  times  over  the 
offices  of  the  Signal.  At  length  it  descended,  and 
I  could  hear  the  whirr  of  its  strong  wings.  The 
wings  ceased  to  beat  and  the  pigeon  slanted  down- 
wards in  a  curve,  its  head  lower  than  its  wide  tail. 
Then  the  little  head  gradually  rose  and  the  tail 
fell;  the  curve  had  changed,  the  pace  slackened;  the 
pigeon  was  calculating  with  all  its  brain ;  eyes,  wings, 
tail  and  feet  were  being  co-ordinated  to  the  resolu- 
tion of  an  intricate  mechanical  problem.  The 
pinkish  claws  seemed  to  grope  —  and  after  an  in- 
stant of  hesitation,  the  thing  was  done,  the  problem 
solved;  the  pigeon,  with  delicious  gracefulness,  had 
established  equilibrium  on  the  ridge  of  a  pigeon- 
cote,  and  folded  its  wings,  and  was  peering  about 
with  strange  motions  of  its  extremely  movable  head. 
Presently  it  flew  down  to  the  leads,  waddled  to  and 
fro  with  the  ungainly  gestures  of  a  fat  woman  of 
sixty,  and  disappeared  into  the  cote.  At  the  same 
moment  the  boy  who  had  been  dismissed  from  the 
sub-editor's  room  ran  forward  and  entered  the  cote 
by  a  wire-screened  door. 

"  Handy  things,   pigeons !  "   said  the   doctor  as 
we  approached  to  examine  the  cote.     Fifty  or  sixty 


178     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

pigeons  were  cooing  and  strutting  in  it.  There  was 
a  protest  of  wings  as  the  boy  seized  the  last  arriving 
messenger. 

"  Give  it  here !  "  Buchanan  ordered. 

The  boy  handed  over  a  thin  tube  of  paper  which 
he  had  unfastened  from  the  bird's  leg.  Buchanan 
unrolled  it  and  showed  it  to  me.  I  read :  "  Mid- 
land Federation.  Axe  United,  Macclesfield  Town. 
Match  abandoned  after  half-hour's  play  owing  to 
fog.  Three  forty-five." 

"  Three  forty-five,"  said  Buchanan,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "  He's  done  the  ten  miles  in  half  an  hour, 
roughly.  Not  bad.  First  time  we  tried  pigeons 
from  as  far  off  as  Axe.  Here,  boy !  "  And  he  re- 
stored the  paper  to  the  boy,  who  gave  it  to  another 
boy,  who  departed  with  it. 

"  Man,"  said  the  doctor,  eyeing  Buchanan. 
"  Ye'd  no  business  out  here.  Ye're  not  precisely  a 
pigeon." 

Down  we  went,  one  after  another,  by  the  ladder, 
and  now  we  fell  into  the  composing-room,  where 
Buchanan  said  he  felt  warmer.  An  immense,  dirty, 
white-washed  apartment  crowded  with  linotypes  and 
other  machines,  in  front  of  which  sat  men  in  white 
aprons,  tapping,  tapping, —  gazing  at  documents 
pinned  at  the  level  of  their  eyes, — and  tapping,  tap- 
ping. A  kind  of  cavernous  retreat  in  which  mon- 
strous iron  growths  rose  out  of  the  floor  and  were 
met  half  way  by  electric  flowers  that  had  their  roots 
in  the  ceiling!  In  this  jungle  there  was  scarcely 
room  for  us  to  walk.  Buchanan  explained  the  lino- 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     179 

types  to  me.  I  watched,  as  though  romantically 
dreaming,  the  flashing  descent  of  letter  after  letter, 
a  rain  of  letters  into  the  belly  of  the  machine;  then, 
going  round  to  the  back,  I  watched  the  same  letters 
rising  again  in  a  close,  slow  procession,  and  sort- 
ing themselves  by  themselves  at  the  top  in  readiness 
to  answer  again  to  the  tapping,  tapping  of  a  man 
in  a  once-white  apron.  And  while  I  was  watching 
all  that,  I  could  somehow,  by  a  faculty  which  we 
have,  at  the  same  time  see  pigeons  far  overhead, 
arriving  and  arriving  out  of  the  murk  from  beyond 
the  verge  of  chimneys. 

"  Ingenious,  isn't  it?  "  said  Stirling. 

But  I  imagine  that  he  had  not  the  faculty  by  which 
to  see  the  pigeons. 

A  reverend,  bearded,  spectacled  man,  with  his 
shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  and  an  apron  stretched  over 
his  hemispherical  paunch,  strolled  slowly  along  an 
alley,  glancing  at  a  galley-proof  with  an  ingenuous 
air  just  as  if  he  had  never  seen  a  galley-proof  be- 
fore. 

"  It's  a  stick  more  than  a  column  already,"  said 
he  confidentially,  offering  the  long  paper,  and  then 
gravely  looking  at  Buchanan,  with  head  bent  for- 
ward, not  through  his  spectacles  but  over  them. 

The  editor  negligently  accepted  the  proof,  and  I 
read  a  series  of  titles:  "  Knype  v.  Manchester 
Rovers.  Record  Gate.  Fifteen  thousand  specta- 
tors. Two  goals  in  twelve  minutes.  Myatt  in 
form.  Special  Report." 

Buchanan  gave  the  slip  back  without  a  word. 


i8o    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  There  you  are !  "  said  he  to  me,  as  another  com- 
positor near  us  attached  a  piece  of  tissue  paper  to  his 
machine.  It  was  the  very  paper  that  I  had  seen 
come  out  of  the  sky,  but  its  contents  had  been  en- 
larged and  amended  by  the  sub-editorial  pen.  The 
man  began  tapping,  tapping,  and  the  letters  began 
to  flash  downwards  on  their  way  to  tell  a  quarter 
of  a  million  people  that  Axe  v.  Macclesfield  had  been 
stopped  by  fog. 

"  I  suppose  that  Knype  match  is  over  by  now?" 
I  said. 

"  Oh,  no!"  said  Buchanan.  "The  second  half 
has  scarcely  begun." 

"Like  to  go?"  Stirling  asked. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  feeling  adventurous,  "  it's  a  no- 
tion, isn't  it?" 

"  You  can  run  Mr.  Loring  down  there  in  five  or 
six  minutes,"  said  Buchanan.  "  And  he's  probably 
never  seen  anything  like  it  before.  You  might  call 
here  as  you  come  home,  and  see  the  paper  on  the 
machines." 

Ill 

We  went  on  the  Grand  Stand,  which  was  packed 
with  men  whose  eyes  were  fixed,  with  an  uncon- 
scious but  intense  effort,  on  a  common  object. 
Among  the  men  were  a  few  women  in  furs  and 
wraps,  equally  absorbed.  Nobody  took  any  notice 
of  us  as  we  insinuated  our  way  up  a  rickety  flight 
of  wooden  stairs,  but  when  by  misadventure  we 
grazed  a  human  being  the  elbow  of  that  being 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     181 

shoved  itself  automatically  and  fiercely  outwards,  to 
repel.  I  had  an  impression  of  hats,  caps,  and 
woolly  overcoats  stretched  in  long  parallel  lines,  and 
of  grimy  raw  planks  everywhere  presenting  possibly 
dangerous  splinters,  save  where  use  had  worn  them 
into  smooth  shininess.  Then  gradually  I  became 
aware  of  the  vast  field,  which  was  more  brown  than 
green.  Around  the  field  was  a  wide  border  of  in- 
finitesimal hats  and  pale  faces,  rising  in  tiers,  and 
beyond  this  border  fences,  hoardings,  chimneys,  fur- 
naces, gasometers,  telegraph-poles,  houses,  and  dead 
trees.  And  here  and  there,  perched  in  strange  peril- 
ous places,  even  high  up  towards  the  sombre  sky, 
were  more  human  beings  clinging.  On  the  field  it- 
self, at  one  end  of  it,  were  a  scattered  handful  of 
doll-like  figures,  motionless;  some  had  white  bodies, 
others  red;  and  three  were  in  black;  all  were  so 
small  and  so  far  off  that  they  seemed  to  be  mere 
unimportant  casual  incidents  in  whatever  recondite 
affair  it  was  that  was  proceeding.  Then  a  whistle 
shrieked,  and  all  these  figures  began  simultaneously 
to  move,  and  then  I  saw  a  ball  in  the  air.  An  ob- 
scure, uneasy  murmuring  rose  from  the  immense 
multitude  like  an  invisible  but  audible  vapour.  The 
next  instant  the  vapour  had  condensed  into  a  sudden 
shout.  Now  I  saw  the  ball  rolling  solitary  in  the 
middle  of  the  field,  and  a  single  red  doll  racing 
towards  it;  at  one  end  was  a  confused  group  of  red 
and  white,  and  at  the  other  two  white  dolls,  rather 
lonely  in  the  expanse.  The  single  red  doll  overtook 
the  ball  and  scudded  along  with  it  at  his  twinkling 


1 82     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

toes.  A  great  voice  behind  me  bellowed  with  an 
incredible  volume  of  sound: 

"Now  Jos!" 

And  another  voice,  further  away,  bellowed: 

"Now  Jos!" 

And  still  more  distantly  the  grim  warning  shot 
forth  from  the  crowd: 

"Now  Jos!     Now  Jos!" 

The  nearer  of  the  white  dolls,  as  the  red  one 
approached,  sprang  forward.  I  could  see  a  leg. 
And  the  ball  was  flying  back  in  a  magnificent  curve 
into  the  skies;  it  passed  out  of  my  sight,  and  then 
I  heard  a  bump  on  the  slates  of  the  roof  of  the 
grand  stand,  and  it  fell  among  the  crowd  in  the 
stand-enclosure.  But  almost  before  the  flight  of  the 
ball  had  commenced,  a  terrific  roar  of  relief  had 
rolled  formidably  round  the  field,  and  out  of  that 
roar,  like  rockets  out  of  thick  smoke,  burst  acutely 
ecstatic  cries  of  adoration: 

"Bravo  Jos!" 

"Good  old  Jos!" 

The  leg  had  evidently  been  Jos's  leg.  The  nearer 
of  these  two  white  dolls  must  be  Jos,  darling  of  fif- 
teen thousand  frenzied  people. 

Stirling  punched  a  neighbour  in  the  side  to  attract 
his  attention. 

"  What's  the  score?  "  he  demanded  of  the  neigh- 
bour, who  scowled  and  then  grinned. 

"  Two  —  one  —  agen  uz !  "  The  other  growled. 

"  It'll  take  our  b s  all  their  time  to  draw. 

They're  playing  a  man  short." 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    183 

"Accident?" 

"No!  Referee  ordered  him  off  for  rough 
play." 

Several  spectators  began  to  explain,  passionately, 
furiously,  that  the  referee's  action  was  utterly  bereft 
of  common  sense  and  justice;  and  I  gathered  that  a 
less  gentlemanly  crowd  would  undoubtedly  have 
lynched  the  referee.  The  explanations  died  down, 
and  everybody  except  me  resumed  his  fierce  watch 
on  the  field. 

I  was  recalled  from  the  exercise  of  a  vague 
curiosity  upon  the  set,  anxious  faces  around  me  by 
a  crashing,  whooping  cheer  which  in  volume  and 
sincerity  of  joy  surpassed  all  noises  in  my  experience. 
This  massive  cheer  reverberated  round  the  field  like 
the  echoes  of  a  battleship's  broadside  in  a  fiord. 
But  it  was  human,  and  therefore  more  terrible  than 
guns.  I  instinctively  thought:  "If  such  are  the 
symptoms  of  pleasure,  what  must  be  the  symptoms 
of  pain  or  disappointment?"  Simultaneously  with 
the  expulsion  of  the  unique  noise  the  expression  of 
the  faces  changed.  Eyes  sparkled;  teeth  became 
prominent  in  enormous,  uncontrolled  smiles. 
Ferocious  satisfaction  had  to  find  vent  in  ferocious 
gestures,  wreaked  either  upon  dead  wood  or  upon 
the  living  tissues  of  fellow  creatures.  The  gentle, 
mannerly  sound  of  hand-clapping  was  a  kind  of  light 
froth  on  the  surface  of  the  billowy  sea  of  heart-felt 
applause.  The  host  of  the  fifteen  thousand  might 
have  just  had  their  lives  saved,  or  their  children 
snatched  from  destruction  and  their  wives  from  dis- 


1 84    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

honour;  they  might  have  been  preserved  from  bank- 
ruptcy, starvation,  prison,  torture;  they  might  have 
been  rewarding  with  their  impassioned  worship  a 
band  of  national  heroes.  But  it  was  not  so.  All 
that  had  happened  was  that  the  ball  had  rolled  into 
the  net  of  the  Manchester  Rovers'  goal.  Knype 
had  drawn  level.  The  reputation  of  the  Five  Towns 
before  the  jury  of  expert  opinion  that  could  dis- 
tinguish between  first-class  football  and  second-class 
was  maintained  intact.  I  could  hear  specialists 
around  me  proving  that  though  Knype  had  yet  five 
League  matches  to  play,  its  situation  was  safe. 
They  pointed  excitedly  to  a  huge  hoarding  at  one 
end  of  the  ground  on  which  appeared  names  of 
other  clubs  with  changing  figures.  These  clubs  in- 
cluded the  clubs  which  Knype  would  have  to  meet 
before  the  end  of  the  season,  and  the  figures  indi- 
cated their  fortunes  on  various  grounds  similar  to 
this  ground  all  over  the  country.  If  a  goal  was 
scored  in  Newcastle  or  in  Southampton,  the  very 
Peru  of  first-class  football,  it  was  registered  on  that 
board  and  its  possible  effect  on  the  destinies  of  Knype 
was  instantly  assessed.  The  calculations  made  were 
dizzying. 

Then  a  little  flock  of  pigeons  flew  up  and  sep- 
arated, under  the  illusion  that  they  were  free  agents 
and  masters  of  the  air,  but  really  wafted  away  to 
fixed  destinations  on  the  stupendous  atmospheric 
waves  of  still-continued  cheering. 

After  a  minute  or  two  the  ball  was  restarted,  and 
the  greater  noise  had  diminished  to  the  sensitive  un- 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     185 

easy  murmur  which  responded  like  a  delicate  instru- 
ment to  the  fluctuations  of  the  game.  Each  feat 
and  manoeuvre  of  Knype  drew  generous  applause  in 
proportion  to  its  intention  or  its  success,  and  each 
sleight  of  the  Manchester  Rovers,  successful  or  not, 
provoked  a  holy  disgust.  The  attitude  of  the  host 
had  passed  beyond  morality  into  religion. 

Then,  again,  while  my  attention  had  lapsed  from 
the  field,  a  devilish,  a  barbaric,  and  a  deafening 
yell  broke  from  those  fifteen  thousand  passionate 
hearts.  It  thrilled  me;  it  genuinely  frightened  me. 
I  involuntarily  made  the  motion  of  swallowing. 
After  the  thunderous  crash  of  anger  from  the  host 
came  the  thin  sound  of  a  whistle.  The  game 
stopped.  I  heard  the  same  word  repeated  again  and 
again,  in  divers  tones  of  exasperated  fury: 

"Foul!" 

I  felt  that  I  was  hemmed  in  by  potential  homi- 
cides, whose  arms  were  lifted  in  the  desire  of  murder 
and  whose  features  were  changed  from  the  likeness 
of  man  into  the  corporeal  form  of  some  pure  and  ter- 
rible instinct. 

And  I  saw  a  long  doll  rise  from  the  ground  and 
approach  a  lesser  doll  with  threatening  hands. 

"Foul!     Foul!" 

"Go  it,  Jos!  Knock  his  neck  out!  Jos!  He 
tripped  thee  up !  " 

There  was  a  prolonged  gesticulatory  altercation 
between  the  three  black  dolls  in  leathern  leggings 
and  several  of  the  white  and  the  red  dolls.  At  last 
one  of  the  mannikins  in  leggings  shrugged  his 


shoulders,  made  a  definite  gesture  to  the  other  two, 
and  walked  away  towards  the  edge  of  the  field 
nearest  the  stand.  It  was  the  unprincipled  referee; 
he  had  disallowed  the  foul.  In  the  protracted  duel 
between  the  offending  Manchester  forward  and  the 
great,  honest  Jos  Myatt  he  had  given  another  point 
to  the  enemy.  As  soon  as  the  host  realised  the 
infamy,  it  yelled  once  more  in  heightened  fury.  It 
seemed  to  surge  in  masses  against  the  thick  iron 
railings  that  alone  stood  between  the  referee  and 
death.  The  discreet  referee  was  approaching  the 
grand  stand  as  the  least  unsafe  place.  In  a  second 
a  handful  of  executioners  had  somehow  got  on  to 
the  grass.  And  in  the  next  second  several  police- 
men were  in  front  of  them,  not  striking  nor  striving 
to  intimidate,  but  heavily  pushing  them  into  bounds. 

"  Get  back  there !  "  cried  a  few  abrupt,  command- 
ing voices  from  the  stand. 

The  referee  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  his  whistle  in  his  mouth.  I  think  that  in  that 
moment  of  acutest  suspense  the  whole  of  his  earthly 
career  must  have  flashed  before  him  in  a  phantas- 
magoria. And  then  the  crisis  was  past.  The  in- 
herent gentlemanliness  of  the  outraged  host  had 
triumphed  and  the  referee  was  spared. 

"  Served  him  right  if  they'd  man-handled  him!  " 
said  a  spectator. 

"Ay!"  said  another,  gloomily,  "Ay!  And  th' 
Football  Association  'ud  ha'  fined  us  maybe  a  hun- 
dred quid  and  disqualified  th'  ground  for  the  rest  o' 
th'  season !  " 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     187 

"  D — n  th'  Football  Association !  " 

"Ay!     But  you  cahna' !  " 

"  Now  lads !  Play  up  Knype !  Now  lads ! 
Give  'em  hot  hell !  "  Different  voices  heartily  en- 
couraged the  home  team  as  the  ball  was  thrown  into 
play. 

The  fouling  Manchester  forward  immediately  re- 
sumed possession  of  the  ball.  Experience  could  not 
teach  him.  He  parted  with  the  ball  and  got  it 
again,  twice.  The  devil  was  in  him  and  in  the  ball. 
The  devil  was  driving  him  towards  Myatt.  They 
met.  And  then  came  a  sound  quite  new:  a  crack- 
ing sound,  somewhat  like  the  snapping  of  a  bough, 
but  sharper,  more  decisive. 

"  By  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Stirling.  "  That's  his 
bone!" 

And  instantly  he  was  off  down  the  staircase  and 
I  after  him.  But  he  was  not  the  first  doctor  on  the 
field.  Nothing  had  been  unforeseen  in  the  wonder- 
ful organisation  of  this  enterprise.  A  pigeon  sped 
away  and  an  official  doctor  and  an  official  stretcher 
appeared,  miraculously,  simultaneously.  It  was 
tremendous.  It  inspired  awe  in  me. 

"He  asked  for  it!"  I  heard  a  man  say  as  I 
hesitated  on  the  shore  of  the  ocean  of  mud. 

Then  I  knew  that  it  was  Manchester  and  not 
Knype  that  had  suffered.  The  confusion  and  hub- 
bub were  in  a  high  degree  disturbing  and  puzzling. 
But  one  emotion  emerged  clear:  pleasure.  I  felt 
it  myself.  I  was  aware  of  joy  in  that  the  two  sides 
were  now  levelled  to  ten  men  apiece.  I  was  mys- 


1 88     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tically  identified  with  the  Five  Towns,  absorbed  into 
their  life.  I  could  discern  on  every  face  the,  con- 
viction that  a  divine  providence  was  in  this  affair, 
that  God  could  not  be  mocked.  I  too  had  this 
conviction.  I  could  discern  also  on  every  face  the 
fear  lest  the  referee  might  give  a  foul  against  the 
hero  Myatt,  or  even  order  him  off  the  field,  though 
of  course  the  fracture  was  a  simple  accident.  I  too 
had  this  fear.  It  was  soon  dispelled  by  the  news 
which  swept  across  the  entire  enclosure  like  a  sweet 
smell,  that  the  referee  had  adopted  the  theory  of  a 
simple  accident.  I  saw  vaguely  policemen,  a 
stretcher,  streaming  crowds,  and  my  ears  heard  a 
monstrous  universal  babbling.  And  then  the  figure 
of  Stirling  detached  itself  from  the  moving  disorder 
and  came  to  me. 

"  Well,  Myatt's  calf  was  harder  than  the  other 
chap's,  that's  all,"  he  said. 

"  Which  is  Myatt?  "  I  asked,  for  the  red  and  the 
white  dolls  had  all  vanished  at  close  quarters,  and 
were  replaced  by  unrecognisably  gigantic  human  ani- 
mals, still  clad,  however,  in  dolls'  vests  and  dolls' 
knickerbockers. 

Stirling  warningly  jerked  his  head  to  indicate  a 
man  not  ten  feet  away  from  me.  This  was  Myatt, 
the  hero  of  the  host  and  the  darling  of  populations. 
I  gazed  up  at  him.  His  mouth  and  his  left  knee 
were  red  with  blood,  and  he  was  piebald  with  thick 
patches  of  mud  from  his  tousled  crown  to  his  enor- 
mous boot.  His  blue  eyes  had  a  heavy,  stupid, 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     189 

honest  glance;  and  of  the  three  qualities  stupidity 
predominated.  He  seemed  to  be  all  feet,  knees, 
hands,  and  elbows.  His  head  was  very  small, — 
the  sole  remainder  of  the  doll  in  him. 

A  little  man  approached  him,  conscious  —  some- 
what too  obviously  conscious  —  of  his  right  to  ap- 
proach. Myatt  nodded. 

1  Ye'n  settled  him,  seemingly,  Jos !  "  said  the 
little  man. 

"  Well,"  said  Myatt,  with  slow  bitterness. 
"  Hadn't  he  been  blooming  well  begging  and  pray- 
ing for  it,  aw  afternoon?  Hadn't  he  now?" 

The  little  man  nodded.  Then  he  said  in  a  lower 
tone: 

"  How's  missis,  like?  " 

"  Her's  altogether  yet,"  said  Myatt.  "  Or  I'd 
none  ha'  played!  " 

"  I've  bet  Watty  half-a-dollar  as  it  inna'  a  lad!  " 
said  the  little  man. 

Myatt  seemed  angry. 

"Wilt  bet  me  half  a  quid  as  it  inna'  a  lad?"  he 
demanded,  bending  down  and  scowling  and  sticking 
out  his  muddy  chin. 

"  Ay !  "  said  the  little  man,  not  blenching. 

"Evens?" 

"  Evens." 

"  I'll  take  thee,  Charlie,"  said  Myatt,  resuming 
his  calm. 

The  whistle  sounded.  And  several  orders  were 
given  to  clear  the  field.  Eight  minutes  had  been  lost 


190    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

over  a  broken  leg,  but  Stirling  said  that  the  referee 
would  surely  deduct  them  from  the  official  time,  so 
that  after  all  the  game  would  not  be  shortened. 

"  I'll  be  up  yon,  to-morra  morning,"  said  the 
little  man. 

Myatt  nodded  and  departed.  Charlie,  the  little 
man,  turned  on  his  heel  and  proudly  rejoined  the 
crowd.  He  had  been  seen  of  all  in  converse  with 
supreme  greatness. 

Stirling  and  I  also  retired;  and  though  Jos  Myatt 
had  not  even  done  his  doctor  the  honour  of  seeing 
him,  neither  of  us,  I  think,  was  quite  without  a  con- 
sciousness of  glory:  I  cannot  imagine  why.  The 
rest  of  the  game  was  flat  and  tame.  Nothing  oc- 
curred. The  match  ended  in  a  draw. 

IV 

We  were  swept  from  the  Football  ground  on  a 
furious  flood  of  humanity, —  carried  forth  and  flung 
down  a  slope  into  a  large  waste  space  that  separated 
the  ground  from  the  nearest  streets  of  little  reddish 
houses.  At  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  on  my  sug- 
gestion, we  halted  for  a  few  moments  aside,  while 
the  current  rushed  forward  and,  spreading  out,  in- 
undated the  whole  space  in  one  marvellous  minute. 
The  impression  of  the  multitude  streaming  from  that 
gap  in  the  wooden  wall  was  like  nothing  more  than 
the  impression  of  a  burst  main  which  only  the 
emptying  of  the  reservoir  will  assuage.  Anybody 
who  wanted  to  commit  suicide  might  have  stood  in 
front  of  that  gap  and  had  his  wish.  He  would  not 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     191 

have  been  noticed.  The  interminable  and  implac- 
able infantry  charge  would  have  passed  unheedingly 
over  him.  A  silent,  pre-occupied  host,  bent  on  some- 
thing else  now,  and  perhaps  teased  by  the  incon- 
venient thought  that  after  all  a  draw  is  not  as  good 
as  a  win !  It  hurried  blindly,  instinctively  outwards, 
knees  and  chins  protruding,  hands  deep  in  pockets, 
chilled  feet  stamping.  Occasionally  some  one 
stopped  or  slackened  to  light  a  pipe,  and  on  being 
curtly  bunted  onward  by  a  blind  force  from  behind, 
accepted  the  hint  as  an  atom  accepts  the  law  of 
gravity.  The  fever  and  ecstasy  were  .over.  What 
fascinated  the  Southern  in  me  was  the  grim  taci- 
turnity, the  steady  stare  (vacant  or  dreaming),  and 
the  heavy,  muffled,  multitudinous  tramp  shaking  the 
cindery  earth.  The  flood  continued  to  rage  through 
the  gap. 

Our  automobile  had  been  left  at  the  Haycock 
Hotel;  we  went  to  get  it,  braving  the  inundation. 
Nearly  opposite  the  stableyard  the  electric  trams 
started  for  Hanbridge,  Bursley  and  Turnhill,  and 
for  Longshaw.  Here  the  crowd  was  less  danger- 
ous, but  still  very  formidable  —  to  my  eyes.  Each 
tram  as  it  came  up,  was  savagely  assaulted,  seized, 
crammed,  and  possessed,  with  astounding  rapidity. 
Its  steps  were  the  western  bank  of  a  Beresina.  At 
a  given  moment  the  inured  conductor,  brandishing 
his  leather-shielded  arm  with  a  pitiless  gesture, 
thrust  aspirants  down  into  the  mud  and  the  tram 
rolled  powerfully  away.  All  this  in  silence. 

After   a    few  minutes   a   bicyclist   swished-  along 


192     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

through  the  mud,  taking  the  far  side  of  the  road, 
which  was  comparatively  free.  He  wore  grey 
trousers,  heavy  boots,  and  a  dark  cut-away  coat,  up 
the  back  of  which  a  line  of  caked  mud  had  deposited 
itself.  On  his  head  was  a  bowler-hat. 

"How  do,  Jos?"  cried  a  couple  of  boys,  cheek- 
ily. And  then  there  were  a  few  adult  greetings  of 
respect. 

It  was  the  hero,  in  haste. 

"  Out  of  it,  there !  "  he  warned  impeders,  between 
his  teeth,  and  plugged  on  with  bent  head. 

"  He  keeps  the  Foaming  Quart  up  at  Toft  End," 
said  the  doctor.  "  It's  the  highest  pub  in  the  Five 
Towns.  He  used  to  be  what  they  call  a  pot-hunter, 
a  racing  bicyclist,  you  know.  But  he's  got  past  that, 
and  he'll  soon  be  past  football.  He's  thirty-four 
if  he's  a  day.  That's  one  reason  why  he's  so  in- 
dependent —  that  and  because  he's  almost  the  only 
genuine  native  in  the  team." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Where  do  they  come  from, 
then?" 

"  Oh !  "  said  Stirling  as  he  gently  started  the  car. 
"  The  club  buys  'em,  up  and  down  the  country. 
Four  of  'em  are  Scots.  A  few  years  ago,  an  Old- 
ham  Club  offered  Knype  £500  for  Myatt,  a  big 
price  —  more  than  he's  worth  now!  But  he 
wouldn't  go,  though  they  guaranteed  to  put  him 
into  a  first-class  pub  —  a  free  house.  He's  never 
cost  Knype  anything  except  his  wages  and  the  good- 
will of  the  Foaming  Quart." 

"  What  are  his  wages?  " 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     193 

"  Don't  know  exactly.  Not  much.  The  Foot- 
ball Association  fix  a  maximum.  I  daresay  about 
four  pounds  a  week.  Hi  there!  Are  you  deaf?" 

;'  Thee  mind  what  tha'rt  about !  "  responded  a 
stout  loiterer  in  our  path,  "  or  I'll  take  thy  ears 
home  for  my  tea,  mester." 

Stirling  laughed. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  had  arrived  at  Hanbridge, 
splashing  all  the  way  between  two  processions  that 
crowded  either  footpath.  And  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  was  a  third  procession,  of  trams, —  tram  fol- 
lowing tram,  each  gorged  with  passengers,  frothing 
at  the  step  with  passengers;  not  the  lackadaisical 
trams  that  I  had  seen  earlier  in  the  afternoon  in 
Crown  Square;  a  different  race  of  trams,  eager  and 
impetuous  velocities.  We  reached  the  Signal  offices. 
No  crowd  of  urchins  to  salute  us  this  time ! 

Under  the  earth  was  the  machine-room  of  the 
Signal.  It  reminded  me  of  the  bowels  of  a  ship, 
so  full  was  it  of  machinery.  One  huge  machine 
clattered  slowly,  and  a  folded  green  thing  dropped 
strangely  on  to  a  little  iron  table  in  front  of  us. 
Buchanan  opened  it,  and  I  saw  that  the  broken  leg 
was  in  it  at  length,  together  with  a  statement  that 
in  the  Signal's  opinion  the  sympathy  of  every  true 
sportsman  would  be  with  the  disabled  player.  I 
began  to  say  something  to  Buchanan,  when  sud- 
denly I  could  not  hear  my  own  voice.  The  great 
machine,  with  another  behind  us,  was  working  at  a 
fabulous  speed  and  with  a  fabulous  clatter.  All 
that  my  startled  senses  could  clearly  disentangle  was 


194    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

that  the  blue  arc-lights  above  us  blinked  occasionally, 
and  that  folded  green  papers  were  snowing  down 
upon  the  iron  table  far  faster  than  the  eye  could 
follow  them.  Tall  lads  in  aprons  elbowed  me  away 
and  carried  off  the  green  papers  in  bundles,  but 
not  more  quickly  than  the  machine  shed  them. 
Buchanan  put  his  lips  to  my  ear.  But  I  could  hear 
nothing.  I  shook  my  head.  He  smiled,  and  led 
us  out  from  the  tumult. 

"  Come  and  see  the  boys  take  them,"  he  said  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

In  a  sort  of  hall  on  the  ground  floor  was  a  long 
counter,  and  beyond  the  counter  a  system  of  steel 
railings  in  parallel  lines,  so  arranged  that  a  person 
entering  at  the  public  door  could  only  reach  the 
counter  by  passing  up  or  down  each  alley  in  suc- 
cession. These  steel  lanes,  which  absolutely  ensured 
the  triumph  of  right  over  might,  were  packed  with 
boys  —  the  ragged  urchins  whom  we  had  seen  play- 
ing in  the  street.  But  not  urchins  now;  rather  young 
tigers !  Perhaps  half  a  dozen  had  reached  the 
counter;  the  rest  were  massed  behind,  shouting  and 
quarrelling.  Through  a  hole  in  the  wall,  at  the  level 
of  the  counter,  bundles  of  papers  shot  continuously, 
and  were  snatched  up  by  servers,  who  distributed 
them  in  smaller  bundles  to  the  hungry  boys;  who 
flung  down  metal  discs  in  exchange  and  fled,  fled 
madly  as  though  fiends  were  after  them,  through  a 
third  door,  out  of  the  pandemonium  into  the  darkling 
street.  And  unceasingly  the  green  papers  appeared 
at  the  hole  in  the  wall  and  unceasingly  they  were 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     195 

plucked  away  and  borne  off  by  those  maddened  chil- 
dren, whose  destination  was  apparently  Aix  or  Ghent, 
and  whose  wings  were  their  tatters. 

"What  are  those  discs?"  I  enquired. 

"  The  lads  have  to  come  and  buy  them  earlier  in 
the  day,"  said  Buchanan.  "  We  haven't  time  to  sell 
this  edition  for  cash,  you  see." 

"  Well,"  I  said  as  we  left,  "  I'm  very  much 
obliged." 

"  What  on  earth  for?  "  Buchanan  asked. 

"  Everything,"  I  said. 

We  returned  through  the  squares  of  Hanbridge 
and  by  Trafalgar  Road  to  Stirling's  house  at  Bleak- 
ridge.  And  everywhere  in  the  deepening  twilight 
I  could  see  the  urchins,  often  hatless  and  sometimes 
scarcely  shod,  scudding  over  the  lamp-reflecting  mire 
with  sheets  of  wavy  green,  and  above  the  noises  of 
traffic  I  could  hear  the  shrill  outcry:  "Signal. 
Football  Edition.  Football  Edition.  Signal." 
The  world  was  being  informed  of  the  might  of  Jos 
Myatt,  and  of  the  averting  of  disaster  from  Knype, 
and  of  the  results  of  over  a  hundred  other  matches 
—  not  counting  Rugby. 


During  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  Stirling 
had  thoroughly  accustomed  himself  to  the  state  of 
being  in  sole  charge  of  an  expert  from  the  British 
Museum,  London,  and  the  high  walls  round  his  more 
private  soul  had  yielded  to  my  timid  but  constant  at- 


196     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tacks,  we  grew  fairly  intimate.  And  in  particular 
the  doctor  proved  to  me  that  his  reputation  for  per- 
suasive raciness  with  patients  was  well  founded.  Yet 
up  to  the  time  of  desert  I  might  have  been  justified 
in  supposing  that  that  much  praised  "  manner  "  in 
a  sick-room  was  nothing  but  a  provincial  legend. 
Such  may  be  the  influence  of  a  quite  inoffensive  and 
shy  Londoner  in  the  country.  At  half-past  ten,  Titus 
being  already  asleep  for  the  night  in  an  armchair, 
we  sat  at  ease  over  the  fire  in  the  study  telling  each 
other  stories.  We  had  dealt  with  the  arts,  and  with 
medicine;  now  we  were  dealing  with  life,  in  those  as- 
pects of  it  which  cause  men  to  laugh  and  women  un- 
easily to  wonder.  Once  or  twice  we  had  mentioned 
the  Brindleys.  The  hour  for  their  arrival  was  come. 
But  being  deeply  comfortable  and  content  where  I 
was,  I  felt  no  impatience.  Then  there  was  a  tap 
on  the  window. 

"  That's  Bobbie !  "  said  Stirling,  rising  slowly 
from  his  chair.  "  He  won't  refuse  whisky,  even  if 
you  do.  I'd  better  get  another  bottle." 

The  tap  was  repeated,  peevishly. 

"  I'm  coming,  laddie !  "  Stirling  protested. 

He  slippered  out  through  the  hall  and  through 
the  surgery  to  the  side  door,  I  following,  and  Ti- 
tus sneezing  and  snuffling  in  the  rear. 

"  I  say,  mester,"  said  a  heavy  voice  as  the  doctor 
opened  the  door.  It  was  not  Brindley,  but  Jos 
Myatt.  Unable  to  locate  the  bell-push  in  the  dark, 
he  had  characteristically  attacked  the  sole  illuminated 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     197 

window.  He  demanded,  or  he  commanded,  very 
curtly,  that  the  doctor  should  go  up  instantly  to  the 
Foaming  Quart  at  Toft  End. 

Stirling  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  All  right,  my  man,"  said  he  calmly. 

"  Now?  "  the  heavy,  suspicious  voice  on  the  door- 
step insisted. 

"  I'll  be  there  before  ye  if  ye  don't  sprint,  man. 
I'll  run  up  in  the  car."  Stirling  shut  the  door.  I 
heard  footsteps  on  the  gravel  path  outside. 

"  Ye  heard?  "  said  he  to  me.  "  And  what  am  I 
to  do  with  ye  ?  " 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  of  course,"  I  answered. 

"  I  may  be  kept  up  there  a  while." 

"  I  don't  care,"  I  said  roisterously.  "  It's  a  pub 
and  I'm  a  traveller." 

Stirling's  household  was  in  bed,  and  his  assistant 
gone  home.  While  he  and  Titus  got  out  the  car,  I 
wrote  a  line  for  the  Brindleys:  "Gone  with  doc- 
tor to  see  patient  at  Toft  End.  Don't  wait  up. 
A.  L."  This  we  pushed  under  Brindley's  front 
door  on  our  way  forth.  Very  soon  we  were  vi- 
brating up  a  steep  street  on  the  first  speed  of  the  car, 
and  the  yellow  reflections  of  distant  furnaces  began 
to  shine  over  house  roofs  below  us.  It  was  exhil- 
aratingly  cold,  a  clear  and  frosty  night,  tonic,  bracing 
after  the  enclosed  warmth  of  the  study.  I  was 
joyous,  but  silently.  We  had  quitted  the  kingdom 
of  the  god  Pan;  we  were  in  Lucina's  realm,  its  con- 
sequence, where  there  is  no  laughter.  We  were  on  a 
mission. 


198     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  I  didn't  expect  this,"  said  Stirling. 

"  No?  "  I  said.  "  But  seeing  that  he  fetched  you 
this  morning " 

"  Oh !  That  was  only  in  order  to  be  sure,  for 
himself.  His  sister  was  there,  in  charge.  Seemed 
very  capable.  Knew  all  about  everything.  Until 
ye  get  to  the  high  social  status  of  a  clerk  or  a  dra- 
per's assistant,  people  seem  to  manage  to  have  their 
children  without  professional  assistance." 

"  Then  do  you  think  there's  anything  wrong?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I'd  not  be  surprised." 

He  changed  to  the  second  speed  as  the  car  topped 
the  first  bluff.  We  said  no  more.  The  night  and 
the  mission  solemnised  us.  And  gradually,  as  we 
rose  towards  the  purple  skies,  the  Five  Towns 
wrote  themselves  out  in  fire  on  the  irregular  plain 
below. 

"That's  Hanbridge  Town  Hall,"  said  Stirling, 
pointing  to  the  right.  "  And  that's  Bursley  Town 
Hall,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  left.  And  there  were 
many  other  beacons,  dominating  the  jewelled  street- 
lines  that  faded  on  the  horizon  into  golden-tinted 
smoke. 

The  road  was  never  quite  free  of  houses.  After 
occurring  but  sparsely  for  half  a  mile,  they  thickened 
into  a  village  —  the  suburb  of  Bursley  called  Toft 
End.  I  saw  a  moving  red  light  in  front  of  us.  It 
was  the  reverse  of  Myatt's  bicycle  lantern.  The  car 
stopped  near  the  dark  facade  of  the  inn,  of  which 
two  yellow  windows  gleamed.  Stirling,  under  My- 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     199 

att's  shouted  guidance,  backed  into  an  obscure  yard 
under  cover.     The  engine  ceased  to  throb. 

"  Friend  of  mine,"  he  introduced  me  to  Myatt. 
"  By  the  way,  Loring,  pass  me  my  bag,  will  you? 
Mustn't  forget  that."  Then  he  extinguished  the 
acetylene  lamps,  and  there  was  no  light  in  the  yard 
except  the  ray  of  the  bicycle  lantern  which  Myatt 
held  in  his  hand.  We  groped  towards  the  house. 
Strange,  every  step  that  I  take  in  the  Five  Towns 
seems  to  have  the  genuine  quality  of  an  adventure  I 

VI 

In  five  minutes  I  was  of  no  account  in  the  scheme 
of  things  at  Toft  End,  and  I  began  to  wonder  why  I 
had  come.  Stirling,  my  sole  protector,  had  van- 
ished up  the  dark  stairs  of  the  house,  following  a 
stout,  youngish  woman  in  a  white  apron,  who  bore 
a  candle.  Jos  Myatt,  behind,  said  to  me :  "  Hap- 
pen you'd  better  go  in  there,  mester,"  pointing  to  a 
half  open  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  I  went 
into  a  little  room  at  the  rear  of  the  bar-parlour.  A 
good  fire  burned  in  a  small  old-fashioned  grate,  but 
there  was  no  other  light.  The  inn  was  closed  to  cus- 
tomers, it  being  past  eleven  o'clock.  On  a  bare  ta- 
ble I  perceived  a  candle,  and  ventured  to  put  a  match 
to  it.  I  then  saw  almost  exactly  such  a  room  as  one 
would  expect  to  find  at  the  rear  of  the  bar-parlour 
of  an  inn  on  the  outskirts  of  an  industrial  town.  It 
appeared  to  serve  the  double  purpose  of  a  living- 
room  and  of  a  retreat  for  favoured  customers.  The 
table  was  evidently  one  at  which  men  drank.  On  a 


200    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

shelf  was  a  row  of  bottles,  more  or  less  empty,  bear- 
ing names  famous  in  newspaper  advertisements  and 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  The  dozen  chairs  suggested 
an  acute  bodily  discomfort  such  as  would  only  be 
tolerated  by  a  sitter  all  of  whose  sensory  faculties 
were  centred  in  his  palate.  On  a  broken  chair  in  a 
corner  was  an  insecure  pile  of  books.  A  smaller 
table  was  covered  with  a  chequered  cloth  on  which 
were  a  few  plates.  Along  one  wall,  under  the  win- 
dow, ran  a  pitch-pine  sofa  upholstered  with  a  stuff 
slightly  dissimilar  from  that  on  the  table.  The  mat- 
tress of  the  sofa  was  uneven  and  its  surface  wrinkled, 
and  old  newspapers  and  pieces  of  brown  paper  had 
been  stowed  away  between  it  and  the  framework. 
The  chief  article  of  furniture  was  an  effective  wal- 
nut bookcase,  the  glass-doors  of  which  were  cur- 
tained with  red  cloth.  The  window,  wider  than  it 
was  high,  was  also  curtained  with  red  cloth.  The 
walls,  papered  in  a  saffron  tint,  bore  framed  adver- 
tisements and  a  few  photographs  of  self-conscious 
persons.  The  ceiling  was  as  obscure  as  heaven;  the 
floor  tiled,  with  a  list  rug  in  front  of  the  steel  fender. 
I  put  my  overcoat  on  the  sofa,  picked  up  the  can- 
dle and  glanced  at  the  books  in  the  corner:  Lava- 
ter's  indestructible  work,  a  paper-covered  Whitaker, 
the  Licensed  Victualler's  Almanac,  "  Johnny  Lud- 
low,"  the  illustrated  catalogue  of  the  Exhibition  of 
1856,  Cruden's  Concordance,  and  seven  or  eight  vol- 
umes of  Knight's  Penny  Encyclopaedia.  While  I  was 
poring  on  these  titles  I  heard  movements  overhead 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     201 

—  previously  there  had  been  no  sound  whatever  — 
and  with  guilty  haste  I  restored  the  candle  to  the 
table  and  placed  myself  negligently  in  front  of  the 
fire. 

"  Now  don't  let  me  see  ye  up  here  any  more  till  I 
fetch  ye !  "  said  a  woman's  distant  voice  —  not 
crossly,  but  firmly.  And  then,  crossly :  "  Be  off 
with  ye  now !  " 

Reluctant  boots  on  the  stairs !  Jos  Myatt  entered 
to  me.  He  did  not  speak  at  first;  nor  did  I.  He 
avoided  my  glance.  He  was  still  wearing  the  cut- 
away coat  with  the  line  of  mud  up  the  back.  I  took 
out  my  watch,  not  for  the  sake  of  information,  but 
from  mere  nervousness,  and  the  sight  of  the  watch 
reminded  me  that  it  would  be  prudent  to  wind  it  up. 

"  Better  not  forget  that,"  I  said,  winding  it. 

"  Ay !  "  said  he  gloomily.  "  It's  a  tip."  And  he 
wound  up  his  watch;  a  large,  thick,  golden  one. 

This  watch-winding  established  a  basis  of  inter- 
course between  us. 

"  I  hope  everything  is  going  on  all  right,"  I  mur- 
mured. 

"  What  dun  ye  say?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  say  I  hope  everything  is  going  on  all  right," 
I  repeated  louder,  and  jerked  my  head  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  stairs,  to  indicate  the  place  from  which 
he  had  come. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  surprised.  "Now 
what'll  ye  have,  mester?"  He  stood  waiting. 
"  It's  my  call,  to-night." 


202     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

I  explained  to  him  that  I  never  took  alcohol.  It 
was  not  quite  true,  but  it  was  as  true  as  most  general 
propositions  are. 

"  Neither  me !  "  he  said  shortly,  after  a  pause. 

"  You're  a  teetotaler  too?  "  I  showed  a  little  invol- 
untary astonishment. 

He  put  forward  his  chin. 

"  What  do  you  think?  "  he  said  confidentially  and 
scornfully.  It  was  precisely  as  if  he  had  said:  "  Do 
you  think  that  anybody  but  a  born  ass  would  not 
be  a  teetotaler,  in  my  position  ?  " 

I  sat  down  on  a  chair. 

"  Take  th'  squab,  mester,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
sofa.  I  took  it. 

He  picked  up  the  candle;  then  dropped  it,  and 
lighted  a  lamp  which  was  on  the  mantelpiece  between 
his  vases  of  blue  glass.  His  movements  were  very 
slow,  hesitating,  and  clumsy.  Blowing  out  the  can- 
dle, which  smoked  for  a  long  time,  he  went  with  the 
lamp  to  the  bookcase.  As  the  key  of  the  bookcase 
was  in  his  right  pocket  and  the  lamp  in  his  right  hand 
he  had  to  change  the  lamp,  cautiously,  from  hand  to 
hand.  When  he  opened  the  cupboard  I  saw  a  rich 
gleam  of  silver  from  every  shelf  of  it  except  the  low- 
est, and  I  could  distinguish  the  forms  of  ceremoni- 
ous cups  with  pedestals  and  immense  handles. 

"  I  suppose  these  are  your  pots?  "  I  said. 

"Ay!" 

He  displayed  to  me  the  fruits  of  his  manifold  vic- 
tories. I  could  see  him  straining  along  endless  cin- 
der-paths and  high-roads  under  hot  suns,  his  great 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     203 

knees  going  up  and  down  like  treadles  amid  the 
plaudits  and  howls  of  vast  populations.  And  all  that 
now  remained  of  that  glory  were  these  debased  and 
vicious  shapes,  magnificently  useless,  grossly  ugly, 
with  their  inscriptions  lost  in  a  mess  of  flourishes. 

"Ay!"  he  said  again,  when  I  had  fingered  the 
last  of  them. 

"  A  very  fine  show  indeed!  "  I  said,  resuming  the 
sofa. 

He  took  a  penny  bottle  of  ink  and  a  pen  out  of  the 
bookcase,  and  also,  from  the  lowest  shelf,  a  bag  of 
money  and  a  long  narrow  account  book.  Then  he 
sat  down  at  the  table  and  commenced  accountancy. 
It  was  clear  that  he  regarded  his  task  as  formidable 
and  complex.  To  see  him  reckoning  the  coins,  ma- 
nipulating the  pen,  splashing  the  ink,  scratching  the 
page;  to  hear  him  whispering  consecutive  numbers 
aloud,  and  muttering  mysterious  anathemas  against 
the  untamable  naughtiness  of  figures, —  all  this  was 
painful,  and  with  the  painfulness  of  a  simple  exer- 
cise rendered  difficult  by  inaptitude  and  incompe- 
tence. I  wanted  to  jump  up  and  cry  to  him :  "  Get 
out  of  the  way,  man,  and  let  me  do  it  for  you!  I 
can  do  it  all  while  you  are  wiping  hairs  from  your 
pen  on  your  sleeve."  I  was  sorry  for  him  because 
he  was  ridiculous  —  and  even  more  grotesque  than 
ridiculous.  I  felt,  quite  acutely,  that  it  was  a  shame 
that  he  could  not  be  for  ever  the  central  figure  of  a 
field  of  mud,  kicking  a  ball  into  long  and  grandiose 
parabolas  higher  than  gasometers,  or  breaking  an  oc- 
casional leg,  surrounded  by  the  violent  affection  of 


204     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

hearts  whose  melting-point  was  the  exclamation, 
"  Good  old  Jos!  "  I  felt  that  if  he  must  repose  his 
existence  ought  to  have  been  so  contrived  that  he 
could  repose  in  impassive  and  senseless  dignity,  like 
a  mountain  watching  the  flight  of  time.  The  con- 
ception of  him  tracing  symbols  in  a  ledger,  counting 
shillings  and  sixpences,  descending  to  arithmetic,  and 
suffering  those  humiliations  which  are  the  invariable 
preliminaries  to  legitimate  fatherhood,  was  shocking 
to  a  nice  taste  for  harmonious  fitness.  .  . 
What,  this  precious  and  terrific  organism,  this  slave 
with  a  specialty  —  whom  distant  towns  had  once 
been  anxious  to  buy  at  the  prodigious  figure  of  five 
hundred  pounds,  obliged  to  sit  in  a  mean  chamber 
and  wait  silently  while  the  woman  of  his  choice  en- 
countered the  supreme  peril !  And  he  would  "  soon 
be  past  football !  "  He  was  "  thirty-four  if  a  day !  " 
It  was  the  verge  of  senility!  He  was  no  longer 
worth  five  hundred  pounds.  Perhaps  even  now  this 
jointed  merchandise  was  only  worth  two  hundred 
pounds  !  And  "  they  " —  the  shadowy  directors, 
who  could  not  kick  a  ball  fifty  feet  and  who  would 
probably  turn  sick  if  they  broke  a  leg  —  "they" 
paid  him  four  pounds  a  week  for  being  the  hero  of  a 
quarter  of  a  million  of  people !  He  was  the  chief 
magnet  to  draw  fifteen  thousand  sixpences  and  shil- 
lings of  a  Saturday  afternoon  into  a  company's  cash 
box,  and  here  he  sat  splitting  his  head  over  fewer  six- 
pences and  shillings  than  would  fill  a  half-pint  pot! 
Jos,  you  ought  in  justice  to  have  been  Jose,  with  a 
thin  red  necktie  down  your  breast  (instead  of  a  line 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS     205 

of  mud  up  your  back) ,  and  embroidered  breeches  on 
those  miraculous  legs,  and  an  income  of  a  quarter  of 
a  million  pesetas,  and  the  languishing  acquiescence 
of  innumerable  mantillas.  Every  moment  you  were 
getting  older  and  stiff er;  every  moment  was  bringing 
nearer  the  moment  when  young  men  would  reply 
curtly  to  their  doddering  elders:  "Jos  Myatt  — 
who  was  *e?" 

The  putting  away  of  the  ledger,  the  ink,  the  pen 
and  the  money  was  as  exasperating  as  their  taking- 
out  had  been.  Then  Jos,  always  too  large  for  the 
room,  crossed  the  tiled  floor  and  mended  the  fire. 
A  poker  was  more  suited  to  his  capacity  than  a  pen. 
He  glanced  about  him,  uncertain  and  anxious,  and 
then  crept  to  the  door  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
listened.  There  was  no  sound;  and  that  was  curi- 
ous. The  woman  who  was  bringing  into  the  world 
the  hero's  child  made  no  cry  that  reached  us  below. 
Once  or  twice  I  had  heard  muffled  movements  not 
quite  overhead  —  somewhere  above  —  but  naught 
else.  The  doctor  and  Jos's  sister  seemed  to  have  re- 
tired into  a  sinister  and  dangerous  mystery.  I  could 
not  dispel  from  my  mind  pictures  of  what  they  were 
watching  and  what  they  were  doing.  The  vast, 
cruel,  fumbling  clumsiness  of  nature,  her  lack  of 
majesty  in  crises  that  ought  to  be  majestic,  her  in- 
curable indignity,  disgusted  me,  aroused  my  disdain. 
I  wanted,  as  a  philosopher  of  all  the  cultures,  to  feel 
that  the  present  was  indeed  a  majestic  crisis,  to  be  so 
esteemed  by  a  superior  man.  I  could  not.  Though 
the  crisis  possibly  intimidated  me  somewhat,  yet  on 


206    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

behalf  of  Jos  Myatt,  I  was  ashamed  of  it.  This 
may  be  reprehensible,  but  it  is  true. 

He  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  looked  at  the  fire.  I 
could  not  attempt  to  carry  on  a  conversation  with 
him,  and  to  avoid  the  necessity  for  any  talk  at  all,  I 
extended  myself  on  the  sofa  and  averted  my  face, 
wondering  once  again  why  I  had  accompanied  the 
doctor  to  Toft  End.  The  doctor  was  now  in  an- 
other, an  inaccessible  world.  I  dozed,  and  from  my 
doze  I  was  roused  by  Jos  Myatt  going  to  the  door 
on  the  stairs. 

"  Jos,"  said  a  voice.     "  It's  a  girl." 

Then  a  silence. 

I  admit  there  was  a  flutter  in  my  heart.  Another 
soul,  another  formed  and  unchangeable  temperament, 
tumbled  into  the  world!  Whence?  Whither? 
.  .  .  As  for  the  quality  of  majesty, —  yes,  if  sil- 
ver trumpets  had  announced  the  advent,  instead  of  a 
stout,  aproned  woman,  the  moment  could  not  have 
been  more  majestic  in  its  sadness.  I  say  "  sadness  " : 
which  is  the  inevitable  and  sole  effect  of  these  eternal 
and  banal  questions,  "Whence?  Whither?" 

"  Is  her  bad?  "  Jos  whispered. 

"  Her's  pretty  bad,"  said  the  voice,  but  cheerily. 
"  Bring  me  up  another  scuttle  o'  coal." 

When  he  returned  to  the  parlour,  after  being  again 
dismissed,  I  said  to  him: 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you." 

"  I  thank  ye !  "  he  said,  and  sat  down.  Presently 
I  could  hear  him  muttering  to  himself,  mildly : 
"  Hell!  Hell!  Hell!" 


207 

I  thought:  "  Stirling  will  not  be  very  long  now, 
and  we  can  depart  home."  I  looked  at  my  watch. 
It  was  a  quarter  to  two.  But  Stirling  did  not  ap- 
pear, nor  was  there  any  message  from  him  or  sign. 
I  had  to  resign  myself  to  the  predicament.  As  a 
faint  chilliness  from  the  window  affected  my  back  I 
drew  my  overcoat  up  to  my  shoulders  as  a  counter- 
pane. Through  a  gap  between  the  red  curtains  of 
the  window  I  could  see  a  star  blazing.  It  passed  be- 
hind the  curtain  with  disconcerting  rapidity.  The 
universe  was  swinging  and  whirling  as  usual. 


VII 

Sounds  of  knocking  disturbed  me.  In  the  few  sec- 
onds that  elapsed  before  I  could  realise  just  where  I 
was  and  why  I  was  there,  the  summoning  knocks 
were  repeated.  The  early  sun  was  shining  through 
the  red  blind.  I  sat  up  and  straightened  my  hair, 
involuntarily  composing  my  attitude  so  that  nobody 
who  might  enter  the  room  should  imagine  that  I  had 
been  other  than  patiently  wideawake  all  night.  The 
second  door  of  the  parlour  —  that  leading  to  the  bar- 
room of  the  Foaming  Quart  —  was  open,  and  I 
could  see  the  bar  itself,  with  shelves  rising  behind  it 
and  the  upright  handles  of  a  beer-engine  at  one  end. 
Some  one  whom  I  could  not  see  was  evidently  un- 
bolting and  unlocking  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
inn.  Then  I  heard  the  scraping  of  a  creaky  portal 
on  the  floor. 

"Well,  Jos,  lad!" 


208     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  little  man,  Charlie,  who 
had  spoken  with  Myatt  on  the  football  field. 

"  Come  in  quick,  Charlie.  It's  cowd  [cold]," 
said  the  voice  of  Jos  Myatt  gloomily. 

"  Ay  !  Cowd  it  is,  lad !  It's  above  three  mile  as 
I've  walked,  and  thou  knows  it,  Jos.  Give  us  a 
quartern  o'  gin." 

The  door  grated  again,  and  a  bolt  was  drawn. 

The  two  men  passed  together  behind  the  bar,  and 
so  within  my  vision.  Charlie  had  a  grey  muffler 
round  his  neck;  his  hands  were  far  in  his  pockets  and 
seemed  to  be  at  strain,  as  though  trying  to  prevent 
his  upper  and  his  lower  garments  from  flying  apart. 
Jos  Myatt  was  extremely  dishevelled.  In  the  little 
man's  demeanour  towards  the  big  one,  there  was  now 
none  of  the  self-conscious  pride  in  the  mere  fact  of 
acquaintance  that  I  had  noticed  on  the  field. 
Clearly  the  two  were  intimate  friends,  perhaps  rel- 
atives. While  Jos  was  dispensing  the  gin,  Charlie 
said  in  a  low  tone: 

"Well,  what  luck,  Jos?" 

This  was  the  first  reference,  by  either  of  them,  to 
the  crisis. 

Jos  deliberately  finished  pouring  out  the  gin. 
Then  he  said: 

"  There's  two  on  'em,  Charlie." 

"  Two  on  'em?     What  mean'st  tha',  lad?  " 

"  I  mean  as  it's  twins." 

Charlie  and  I  were  equally  startled. 

"Thou  never  says!"  he  murmured,  incredulous. 

"  Ay!     One  o'  both  sorts,"  said  Jos. 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    209 

"Thou  never  says!"  Charlie  repeated,  holding 
his  glass  of  gin  steady  in  his  hand. 

"  One  come  at  summat  after  one  o'clock,  and  th' 
other  between  five  and  six.  I  had  for  fetch  old 
woman  Eardley  to  help.  It  were  more  than  a  hand- 
ful for  Susannah  and  th'  doctor." 

Astonishing,  that  I  should  have  slept  through  these 
events ! 

"  How  is  her?  "  asked  Charley  quietly,  as  it  were 
casually.  I  think  this  appearance  of  casualness  was 
caused  by  the  stoic  suppression  of  the  symptoms  of 
anxiety. 

"  Her's  bad,"  said  Jos  briefly. 

"  And  I  am  na'  surprised,"  said  Charlie.  And 
he  lifted  the  glass.  "Well  — here's  luck."  He 
sipped  the  gin,  savouring  it  on  his  tongue  like  a  con- 
noisseur and  gradually  making  up  his  mind  about  its 
quality.  Then  he  took  another  sip. 

"Hast  seen  her?" 

"  I  seed  her  for  a  minute,  but  our  Susannah  would- 
na'  let  me  stop  i'  th'  room.  Her  was  raving  like." 

"Missis?" 

"Ay!" 

"  And  th'  babbies  —  hast  seen  them?  " 

"  Ay !  But  I  can  make  nowt  out  of  'em.  Mrs. 
Eardley  says  as  her's  never  seen  no  finer." 

"  Doctor  gone?" 

"  That  he  has  na' !  He's  bin  up  there  all  the 
blessed  night,  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  I  give  him  a  stiff 
glass  o'  whisky  at  five  o'clock  and  that's  all  as  he's 
had." 


210    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Charlie  finished  his  gin.     The  pair  stood  silent. 

"  Well,"  said  Charlie,  striking  his  leg.  "  Swelp 
me  bob  I  It  fair  beats  me !  Twins !  Who'd  ha' 
thought  it?  Jos,  lad,  thou  mays't  be  thankful  as  it 
isna'  triplets.  Never  did  I  think,  as  I  was  footing  it 
up  here  this  morning,  as  it  was  twins  I  was  coming 
to!" 

"  Hast  got  that  half  quid  in  thy  pocket?  " 

"What  half  quid?"  said  Charlie  defensively. 

"  Now  then.  Chuck  us  it  over!  "  said  Jos,  sud- 
denly harsh  and  overbearing. 

"  I  laid  thee  half  quid  as  it  'ud  be  a  wench,"  said 
Charlie  doggedly. 

"Thou'rt  a  liar,  Charlie!"  said  Jos.  "Thou 
laid'st  half  a  quid  as  it  wasna'  a  boy." 

"  Nay,  nay!  "     Charlie  shook  his  head. 

"  And  a  boy  it  is !  "  Jos  persisted. 

"  It  being  a  lad  and  a  wench,"  said  Charlie,  with 
a  judicial  air,  "  and  me  'aving  laid  as  it  'ud  be  a 
wench,  I  wins."  In  his  accents  and  his  gestures  I 
could  discern  the  mean  soul,  who  on  principle  never 
paid  until  he  was  absolutely  forced  to  pay.  I  could 
see  also  that  Jos  Myatt  knew  his  man. 

"  Thou  laidst  me  as  it  wasna'  a  lad,"  Jos  almost 
shouted.  "  And  a  lad  it  is,  I  tell  thee." 

"And  a  wench  !  "  said  Charlie ;  then  shook  his  head. 

The  wrangle  proceeded  monotonously,  each  party 
repeating  over  and  over  again  the  phrases  of  his  own 
argument.  I  was  very  glad  that  Jos  did  not  know 
me  to  be  a  witness  of  the  making  of  the  bet;  other- 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    211 

wise  I  should  assuredly  have  been  summoned  to  give 
judgment. 

"  Let's  call  it  off,  then,"  Charlie  suggested 
at  length.  "That'll  settle  it.  And  it  being 
twins " 

"  Nay,  thou  old  devil,  I'll  none  call  it  off.  Thou 
owes  me  half  a  quid,  and  I'll  have  it  out  of  thee." 

"  Look  ye  here,"  Charlie  said  more  softly.  "  I'll 
tell  thee  what'll  settle  it.  Which  on  'em  come  first, 
th'  lad  or  th'  wench?" 

"  Th'  wench  come  first,"  Jos  Myatt  admitted,  with 
resentful  reluctance,  dully  aware  that  defeat  was 
awaiting  him. 

"  Well,  then !  Th'  wench  is  thy  eldest  child. 
That's  law,  that  is.  And  what  was  us  betting  about, 
Jos  lad?  Us  was  betting  about  thy  eldest  and  no 
other.  I'll  admit  as  I  laid  it  wasna'  a  lad,  as  thou 
sayst.  And  it  wasna'  a  lad.  First  come  is  eldest, 
and  us  was  betting  about  eldest." 

Charlie  stared  at  the  father  in  triumph. 

Jos  Myatt  pushed  roughly  past  him  in  the  narrow 
space  behind  the  bar,  and  came  into  the  parlour. 
Nodding  to  me  curtly,  he  unlocked  the  bookcase  and 
took  two  crown  pieces  from  a  leathern  purse  which 
lay  next  to  the  bag.  Then  he  returned  to  the  bar, 
and  banged  the  coins  on  the  counter  with  fury. 

"  Take  thy  brass  I  "  he  shouted  angrily.  "  Take 
thy  brass!  But  thou'rt  a  damned  shark,  Charlie, 
and  if  anybody  'ud  give  me  a  plug  o'  bacca  for  doing 
it,  I'd  bash  thy  face  in." 


212    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  other  sniggered  contentedly  as  he  picked  up 
his  money. 

"  A  bet's  a  bet,"  said  Charlie. 

He  was  clearly  accustomed  to  an  occasional  vio- 
lence of  demeanour  from  Jos  Myatt,  and  felt  no 
fear.  But  he  was  wrong  in  feeling  no  fear.  He 
had  not  allowed,  in  his  estimate  of  the  situation,  for 
the  exasperated  condition  of  Jos  Myatt's  nerves  un- 
der the  unique  experiences  of  the  night. 

Jos's  face  twisted  into  a  hundred  wrinkles  and  his 
hand  seized  Charlie  by  the  arm  whose  hand  held 
the  coins. 

"  Drop  'em !  "  he  cried  loudly,  repenting  his  naive 
honesty.  "  Drop  'em !  Or  I'll " 

The  stout  woman,  her  apron  all  soiled,  now  came 
swiftly  and  scarce  heard  into  the  parlour,  and  stood 
at  the  door  leading  to  the  bar-room. 

"  What's  up,  Susannah  ?  "  Jos  demanded  in  a  new 
voice. 

"  Well  may  ye  ask  what's  up !  "  said  the  woman. 
"  Shouting  and  brangling  there,  ye  sots !  " 

"  What's  up?  "  Jos  demanded  again,  loosing  Char- 
lie's arm. 

"  Her's  gone  1  "  the  woman  feebly  whimpered, 
"  Like  that !  "  with  a  vague  movement  of  the  hand 
indicating  suddenness.  Then  she  burst  into  wild 
sobs,  and  rushed  madly  back  whence  she  had  come, 
and  the  sound  of  her  sobs  diminished  as  she  ascended 
the  stairs,  and  expired  altogether  in  the  distant  shut- 
ting of  a  door. 

The  men  looked  at  each  other. 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    213 

Charlie  restored  the  crown-pieces  to  the  counter, 
and  pushed  them  towards  Jos. 

"  Here !  "  he  murmured  faintly. 

Jos  flung  them  savagely  to  the  ground.  Another 
pause  followed. 

"  As  God  is  my  witness,"  he  exclaimed  solemnly, 
his  voice  saturated  with  feeling,  "  As  God  is  my  wit- 
ness," he  repeated,  "  I'll  ne'er  touch  a  footba' 
again!  " 

Little  Charlie  gazed  up  at  him  sadly,  plaintively, 
for  what  seemed  a  long  while. 

"  It's  good-bye  to  th'  First  League,  then,  for 
Knype !  "  he  tragically  muttered,  at  length. 

VIII 

Dr.  Stirling  drove  the  car  very  slowly  back  to 
Bursley.  We  glided  gently  down  into  the  populous 
valleys.  All  the  stunted  trees  were  coated  with  rime, 
which  made  the  sharpest  contrast  with  their  black 
branches  and  the  black  mud  under  us.  The  high 
chimneys  sent  forth  their  black  smoke  calmly  and 
tirelessly  into  the  fresh  blue  sky.  Sunday  had  de- 
scended on  the  vast  landscape  like  a  physical  influ- 
ence. We  saw  a  snake  of  children  winding  out  of 
a  dark  brown  Sunday  school  into  a  dark  brown 
chapel.  And  up  from  the  valleys  came  all  the  bells 
of  all  the  temples  of  all  the  different  gods  of  the  Five 
Towns,  chiming,  clanging,  ringing,  each  insisting  that 
it  alone  invited  to  the  altar  of  the  one  God.  And 
priests  and  acolytes  of  the  various  cults  hurried  oc- 
casionally along,  in  silk  hats  and  bright  neckties,  and 


2i4    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

smooth  coats  with  folded  handkerchiefs  sticking  out 
of  the  pockets,  busy,  happy  and  self-important,  the 
convinced  heralds  of  eternal  salvation :  no  doubt  nor 
hesitation  as  to  any  fundamental  truth  had  ever 
entered  their  minds.  We  passed  through  a  long, 
straight  street  of  new  red  houses  with  blue  slate 
roofs,  all  gated  and  gardened.  Here  and  there  a 
girl  with  her  hair  in  pins  and  a  rough  brown  apron 
over  a  gaudy  frock  was  stoning  a  front-step.  And 
half-way  down  the  street  a  man  in  a  scarlet  jersey, 
supported  by  two  women  in  blue  bonnets,  was  beating 
a  drum  and  crying  aloud:  "  My  friends,  you  may 

die   to-night.     Where,   I   ask  you,   where ? " 

But  he  had  no  friends;  not  even  a  boy  heeded  him. 
The  drum  continued  to  bang  in  our  rear. 

I  enjoyed  all  this.  All  this  seemed  to  me  to  be 
fine,  seemed  to  throw  off  the  true,  fine,  romantic 
savour  of  life.  I  would  have  altered  nothing  in  it. 
Mean,  harsh,  ugly,  squalid,  crude,  barbaric, —  yes, 
but  what  an  intoxicating  sense  in  it  of  the  organised 
vitality  of  a  vast  community  unconscious  of  itself! 
I  would  have  altered  nothing  even  in  the  events  of 
the  night.  I  thought  of  the  rooms  at  the  top  of  the 
staircase  of  the  Foaming  Quart, —  mysterious  rooms 
which  I  had  not  seen  and  never  should  see,  recondite 
rooms  from  which  a  soul  had  slipped  away  and  into 
which  two  had  come,  scenes  of  anguish  and  of  frus- 
trated effort!  Historical  rooms,  surely!  And  yet 
not  a  house  in  the  hundreds  of  houses  past  which  we 
slid  but  possessed  rooms  ennobled  and  made  august 


MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS    215 

by  happenings  exactly  as  impressive  in  their  tremen- 
dous inexplicableness. 

The  natural  humanity  of  Jos  Myatt  and  Charlie, 
their  fashion  of  comporting  themselves  in  a  sudden 
stress,  pleased  me.  How  else  should  they  have  be- 
haved? I  could  understand  Charlie's  prophetic 
dirge  over  the  ruin  of  the  Knype  Football  Club.  It 
was  not  that  he  did  not  feel  the  tragedy  in  the  house. 
He  had  felt  it,  and  because  he  had  felt  it  he  had 
uttered  at  random,  foolishly,  the  first  clear  thought 
that  ran  into  his  head. 

Stirling  was  quiet.  He  appeared  to  be  absorbed 
in  steering,  and  looked  straight  in  front,  yawning 
now  and  again.  He  was  much  more  fatigued  than 
I  was.  Indeed  I  had  slept  pretty  well.  He  said 
as  we  swerved  into  Trafalgar  Road  and  overtook 
the  aristocracy  on  its  way  to  chapel  and  church: 

"  Well,  ye  let  yeself  in  for  a  night,  young  man  I 
No  mistake !  " 

He  smiled,  and  I  smiled. 

"  What's  going  to  occur  up  there?  "  I  asked,  indi- 
cating Toft  End. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  A  man  like  that  —  left  with  two  babies !  " 

"  Oh !  "  he  said.  "  They'll  manage  that  all  right. 
His  sister's  a  widow.  She'll  go  and  live  with  him. 
She's  as  fond  of  those  infants  already  as  if  they  were 
her  own." 

We  drew  up  at  his  double  gates. 

"  Be  sure  ye  explain  to  Brindley,"  he  said,  as  I 


216     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

left  him,  "  that  it  isn't  my  fault  ye've  had  a  night 
out  of  bed.  It  was  your  own  doing.  I'm  going  to 
get  a  bit  of  sleep  now.  See  you  this  evening.  Bob's 
asked  me  to  supper." 

A  servant  was  sweeping  Bob  Brindley's  porch,  and 
the  front  door  was  open.  I  went  in.  The  sound 
of  the  piano  guided  me  to  the  drawing-room.  Brind- 
ley,  the  morning  cigarette  between  his  lips,  was  play- 
ing one  of  Maurice  Ravel's  "  Miroirs."  He  held 
his  head  back  so  as  to  keep  the  smoke  out  of  his  eyes. 
His  children  in  their  blue  jerseys  were  building  bricks 
on  the  carpet. 

Without  ceasing  to  play,  he  addressed  me  calmly : 

"  You're  a  nice  chap !  Where  the  devil  have  you 
been?" 

And  one  of  the  little  boys  glancing  up,  said  with 
roguish  imitative  innocence,  in  his  high  shrill  voice: 

"  Where  the  del  you  been?  " 


A  FEUD 

WHEN  Clive  Timmis  paused  at  the  side- 
door  of  Ezra  Brunt's  great  shop  in  Ma- 
chin  Street,  and  the  door  was  opened  to 
him  by  Ezra  Brunt's  daughter  before  he  had  had  time 
to  pull  the  bell,  not  only  all  Machin  Street  knew  it 
within  the  hour,  but  also  most  persons  of  consequence 
left  in  Hanbridge  on  a  Thursday  afternoon  — 
Thursday  being  early-closing  day.  For  Hanbridge, 
though  it  counts  sixty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  is 
the  chief  of  the  Five  Towns  —  that  vast,  huddled 
congeries  of  boroughs  devoted  to  the  manufacture 
of  earthenware  —  is  a  place  where  the  art  of  attend- 
ing to  other  people's  business  still  flourishes  in  rustic 
perfection. 

Ezra  Brunt's  drapery  establishment  was  the  fore- 
most retail  house,  in  any  branch  of  trade,  of  the  Five 
Towns.  It  had  no  rival  nearer  than  Manchester, 
thirty-six  miles  off;  and  even  Manchester  could  ex- 
hibit nothing  conspicuously  superior  to  it.  The 
most  acutely  critical  shoppers  of  the  Five  Towns  — 
women  who  were  in  the  habit  of  going  to  London 
every  year  for  the  January  sales  —  spoke  of  Brunt's 
as  a  "  right-down  good  shop."  And  the  husbands 
of  these  ladies,  manufacturers  who  employed  from 
two  hundred  to  a  thousand  men,  regarded  Ezra  Brunt 

217 


218     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

as  a  commercial  magnate  of  equal  importance  with 
themselves.  Brunt,  who  had  served  his  apprentice- 
ship at  Birmingham,  started  business  in  Machin 
Street  in  1862,  when  Hanbridge  was  half  its  present 
size  and  all  the  best  shops  of  the  district  were  in  Old- 
castle,  an  ancient  burg  contiguous  with,  but  holding 
itself  proudly  aloof  from,  the  industrial  Five  Towns. 
He  paid  eighty  pounds  a  year  rent,  and  lived  over 
the  shop,  and  in  the  summer  quarter  his  gas  bill  was 
always  under  a  sovereign.  For  ten  years  success  tar- 
ried, but  in  1872  his  daughter  Eva  was  born  and  his 
wife  died,  and  from  that  moment  the  sun  of  his  pros- 
perity climbed  higher  and  higher  into  heaven.  He 
had  been  profoundly  attached  to  his  wife,  and,  hav- 
ing lost  her  he  abandoned  himself  to  the  mercantile 
struggle  with  that  morose  and  terrible  ferocity  which 
was  the  root  of  his  character.  Of  rude,  gaunt  as- 
pect, gruffly  taciturn  by  nature,  and  variable  in  tem- 
per, he  yet  had  the  precious  instinct  for  soothing  cus- 
tomers. To  this  day  he  can  surpass  his  own  shop- 
walkers in  the  admirable  and  tender  solicitude  with 
which,  forsaking  dialect,  he  drops  into  a  lady's  ear 
his  famous  stereotyped  phrase :  "  Are  you  receiv- 
ing proper  attention,  madam  ?  "  From  the  first  he 
eschewed  the  facile  trickeries  and  ostentations  which 
allure  the  populace.  He  sought  a  high-class  trade, 
and  by  waiting  he  found  it.  He  would  never  adver- 
tise on  hoardings;  for  many  years  he  had  no  sign- 
board over  his  shop-front;  and  whereas  the  name  of 
"  Bostocks,"  the  huge  cheap  drapers  lower  down 
Machin  Street,  on  the  opposite  side,  attacks  you  at 


A  FEUD  219 

every  railway-station  and  in  every  tramcar,  the  name 
of  "  E.  Brunt "  is  to  be  seen  only  in  a  modest  regu- 
lar advertisement  on  the  front  page  of  the  Stafford- 
shire Signal.  Repose,  reticence,  respectability  —  it 
was  these  attributes  which  he  decided  his  shop  should 
possess,  and  by  means  of  which  he  succeeded.  To 
enter  Brunt's,  with  its  silently  swinging  doors,  its 
broad,  easy  staircases,  its  long  floors  covered  with 
warm,  red  linoleum,  its  partitioned  walls,  its  smooth 
mahogany  counters,  its  unobtrusive  mirrors,  its  rows 
of  youths  and  virgins  in  black,  and  its  pervading  at- 
mosphere of  quietude  and  discretion,  was  like  enter- 
ing a  temple  before  the  act  of  oblation  has  com- 
menced. You  were  conscious  of  some  supreme  ad- 
ministrative influence  everywhere  imposing  itself. 
That  influence  was  Ezra  Brunt.  And  yet  the  man 
differed  utterly  from  the  thing  he  had  created.  His 
was  one  of  those  dark  and  passionate  souls  which 
smoulder  in  this  harsh  Midland  district  as  slag-heaps 
smoulder  on  the  pit-banks,  revealing  their  strange 
fires  only  in  the  darkness. 

In  1899  Brunt's  establishment  occupied  four 
shops,  Nos.  52,  56,  58,  and  60,  in  Machin  Street. 
He  had  bought  the  freeholds  at  a  price  which  timid 
people  regarded  as  exorbitant,  but  the  solicitors  of 
Hanbridge  secretly  applauded  his  enterprise  and 
shrewdness  in  anticipating  the  enormous  rise  in 
ground-values  which  has  now  been  in  rapid,  steady 
progress  there  for  more  than  a  decade.  He  had 
thrown  the  interiors  together  and  rebuilt  the  front- 
ages in  handsome  freestone.  He  had  also  purchased 


several  shops  opposite,  and  rumour  said  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  offer  these  latter  to  the  Town  Council 
at  a  low  figure  if  the  Council  would  cut  a  new  street 
leading  from  his  premises  to  the  Market  Square. 
Such  a  scheme  would  have  met  with  general  approval. 
But  there  was  one  serious  hiatus  in  the  plans  of  Ezra 
Brunt  —  to  wit,  No.  54,  Machin  Street.  No.  54, 
separating  52  and  56,  was  a  chemist's  shop,  shabby 
but  sedate  as  to  appearance,  owned  and  occupied  by 
George  Christopher  Timmis,  a  mild  and  venerable 
citizen,  and  a  local  preacher  in  the  Wesleyan  Metho- 
dist Connexion.  For  nearly  thirty  years  Brunt  had 
coveted  Mr.  Timmis's  shop ;  more  than  twenty  years 
have  elapsed  since  he  first  opened  negotiations  for  it. 
Mr.  Timmis  was  by  no  means  eager  to  sell  —  indeed, 
his  attitude  was  distinctly  a  repellent  one  —  but  a 
bargain  would  undoubtedly  have  been  concluded  had 
not  a  report  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Timmis  to  the 
effect  that  Ezra  Brunt  had  remarked  at  the  Turk's 
Head  that  "  th'  old  leech  was  only  sticking  out  for 
every  brass  farthing  he  could  get."  The  report  was 
untrue,  but  Mr.  Timmis  believed  it,  and  from  that 
moment  Ezra  Brunt's  chances  of  obtaining  the  chem- 
ist's shop  vanished  completely.  His  lawyer  expended 
diplomacy  in  vain,  raising  the  offer  week  by  week  till 
the  incredible  sum  of  three  thousand  pounds  was 
reached.  Then  Ezra  Brunt  himself  saw  Mr.  Tim- 
mis,  and  without  a  word  of  prelude  said: 

"  Will  ye  take  three  thousand  guineas  for  this  bit 
o'  property?  " 

"  Not  thirty  thousand  guineas,"   said  Mr.  Tim- 


A  FEUD  221 

mis  quietly;  the  stern  pride  of  the  benevolent  old 
local  preacher  had  been  aroused. 

"  Then  be  damned  to  you !  "  said  Ezra  Brunt,  who 
had  never  been  known  to  swear  before. 

Thenceforth  a  feud  existed,  not  less  bitter  because 
it  was  a  feud  in  which  nothing  was  said  and  nothing 
done  —  a  silent  and  implacable  mutual  resistance. 
The  sole  outward  sign  of  it  was  the  dirty  and 
stumpy  brown-brick  shop-front  of  Mr.  Timmis, 
squeezed  in  between  those  massive  luxurious 
facades  of  stone  which  Ezra  Brunt  soon  after- 
wards erected.  The  pharmaceutical  business  of 
Mr.  Timmis  was  not  a  very  large  one,  and,  fis- 
cally, Ezra  Brunt  could  have  swallowed  him  at 
a  meal  and  suffered  no  inconvenience;  but  in  that 
the  aged  chemist  had  lived  on  just  half  his  small  in- 
come for  some  fifty  years  past,  his  position  was  im- 
pregnable. Hanbridge  smiled  cynically  at  this  im- 
passe produced  by  an  idle  word,  and,  recognising  the 
equality  of  the  antagonists,  leaned  neither  to  one  side 
nor  to  the  other.  At  intervals,  however,  the  legend 
of  the  feud  was  embroidered  with  new  and  effective 
detail  in  the  mouth  of  some  inventive  gossip,  and  by 
degrees  it  took  high  place  among  those  piquant  so- 
cial histories  which  illustrate  the  real  life  of  a  town, 
and  which  parents  recount  to  their  children  with  such 
zest  in  moods  of  reminiscence. 

When  George  Christopher  Timmis  buried  his  wife, 
Ezra  Brunt,  as  a  near  neighbour,  was  asked  to  the 
funeral.  "  The  cortege  will  move  at  1.30,"  ran  the 
printed  invitation,  and  at  1.15  Brunt's  carriage  was 


222     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

decorously  in  place  behind  the  hearse  and  the  two 
mourning-coaches.  The  demeanour  of  the  chemist 
and  the  draper  towards  each  other  was  a  sublime  an- 
swer to  the  demands  of  the  occasion;  some  people 
even  said  that  the  breach  had  been  healed,  but  these 
were  not  of  the  discerning. 

The  most  active  person  at  the  funeral  was  the 
chemist's  only  nephew,  Clive  Timmis,  partner  in  a 
small  but  prosperous  firm  of  majolica  manufacturers 
at  Bursley.  Clive,  who  was  seldom  seen  in  Han- 
bridge,  made  a  favourable  impression  on  everyone 
by  his  pleasing,  unaffected  manner  and  his  air  of  dis- 
cretion and  success.  He  was  a  bachelor  of  thirty- 
two,  and  lived  in  lodgings  at  Bursley.  On  the  re- 
turn of  the  funeral-party  from  the  cemetery,  Clive 
Timmis  found  Brunt's  daughter  Eva  in  his  uncle's 
house.  Uninvited,  she  had  left  her  place  in  the  pri- 
vate room  at  her  father's  shop  in  order  to  assist  Tim- 
mis's  servant  Sarah  in  the  preparation  of  that  solid 
and  solemn  repast  which  must  inevitably  follow  ev- 
ery proper  interment  in  the  Five  Towns.  Without 
false  modesty,  she  introduced  herself  to  one  or  two 
of  the  men  who  had  surprised  her  at  her  work,  and 
then  quietly  departed  just  as  they  were  sitting  down 
to  table  and  Sarah  had  brought  in  the  hot  tea-cakes. 
Clive  Timmis  saw  her  only  for  a  moment,  but  from 
that  moment  she  was  his  one  thought.  During  the 
evening,  which  he  spent  alone  with  his  uncle,  he  be- 
haved in  every  particular  as  a  nephew  should,  yet  he 
was  acting  a  part;  his  real  self  roved  after  Ezra 
Brunt's  daughter,  wherever  she  might  be.  Clive  had 


A  FEUD  223 

never  fallen  in  love,  though  several  times  in  his  life 
he  had  tried  hard  to  do  so.  He  had  long  wished  to 
marry  —  wished  ardently;  he  had  even  got  into  the 
way  of  regarding  every  woman  he  met  —  and  he  met 
many  —  in  the  light  of  a  possible  partner.  "  Can 
it  be  she?"  he  had  asked  himself  a  thousand  times, 
and  then  answered  half  sadly,  "  No."  Not  one 
woman  had  touched  his  imagination,  coincided  with 
his  dream.  It  is  strange  that  after  seeing  Eva 
Brunt  he  forgot  thus  to  interrogate  himself.  For  a 
fortnight,  while  he  went  his  ways  as  usual,  her  image 
occupied  his  heart,  throwing  that  once  orderly  cham- 
ber into  the  wildest  confusion;  and  he  let  it  remain, 
dimly  aware  of  some  delicious  danger.  He  inspected 
the  image  every  night  before  he  slept,  and  every 
morning  when  he  awoke,  and  made  no  effort  to  de- 
fine its  distracting  charm;  he  knew  only  that  Eva 
Brunt  was  absolutely  and  in  every  detail  unlike  all 
other  women.  On  the  second  Sunday  he  murmured 
during  the  sermon:  "  But  I  only  saw  her  for  a  min- 
ute." A  few  days  afterwards  he  took  the  tram  to 
Hanbridge. 

"  Uncle,"  he  said,  "  how  should  you  like  me  to 
come  and  live  here  with  you?  I've  been  thinking 
things  out  a  bit,  and  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  like  it. 
I  expect  you  must  feel  rather  lonely  now." 

The  neat,  fragrant  shop  was  empty,  and  the  two 
men  stood  behind  the  big  glass-fronted  case  of  Bur- 
roughs and  Wellcome's  preparations.  Clive's  ven- 
erable uncle  happened  to  be  looking  into  a  drawer 
marked  "  Gentianae  Rad.  Pulv."  He  closed  the 


224    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

drawer  with  slow  hesitation,  and  then,  stroking  his 
long  white  beard,  replied  in  that  deliberate  voice 
which  seemed  always  to  tremble  with  religious  fer- 
vour: 

"  The  hand  of  the  Lord  is  in  this  thing,  Clive. 
I  have  wished  that  you  might  come  to  live  here  with 
me.  But  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  too  far  from  the 
works." 

"  Pooh !  that's  nothing,"  said  Clive. 

As  he  lingered  at  the  shop  door  for  the  Bursley 
car  to  pass  the  end  of  Machin  Street,  Eva  Brunt 
went  by.  He  raised  his  hat  with  diffidence,  and  she 
smiled.  It  was  a  marvellous  chance.  His  heart 
leapt  into  a  throb  which  was  half  agony  and  half 
delight. 

"  I  am  in  love,"  he  said  gravely. 

He  had  just  discovered  the  fact,  and  the  discovery 
filled  him  with  exquisite  apprehension. 

If  he  had  waited  till  the  age  of  thirty-two  for  that 
springtime  of  the  soul  which  we  call  love,  Clive  had 
not  waited  for  nothing.  Eva  was  a  woman  to  en- 
ravish  the  heart  of  a  man  whose  imagination  could 
pierce  the  agitating  secrets  immured  in  that  calm 
and  silent  bosom.  Slender  and  scarcely  tall,  she  be- 
longed to  the  order  of  spare,  slight-made  women, 
who  hide  within  their  slim  frames  an  endowment  of 
profound  passion  far  exceeding  that  of  their  more 
voluptuously-formed  sisters,  who  never  coarsen  into 
stoutness,  and  who  at  forty  are  as  disturbing  as  at 
twenty.  At  this  date  Eva  was  twenty-six.  She  had 
a  rather  small,  white  face,  which  was  a  mask  to 


A  FEUD  225 

the  casual  observer,  and  the  very  mirror  of  her  feel- 
ings to  anyone  with  eyes  to  read  its  signs. 

"  I  tell  you  what  you  are  like,"  said  Clive  to  her 
once :  "  you  are  like  a  fine  racehorse,  always  on  the 
quiver." 

Yet  many  people  considered  her  cold  and  impas- 
sive. Her  walk  and  bearing  showed  a  sensitive  in- 
dependence, and  when  she  spoke  it  was  usually  in 
tones  of  command.  The  girls  in  the  shop,  where 
she  was  a  power  second  only  to  Ezra  Brunt,  were 
a  little  afraid  of  her,  chiefly  because  she  poured  ter- 
rible scorn  on  their  small  affectations,  jealousies,  and 
vendettas.  But  they  liked  her  because,  in  their  own 
phrase,  "  there  was  no  nonsense  about "  this  re- 
doubtable woman.  She  hated  shams  and  make-be- 
lieves with  a  bitter  and  ruthless  hatred.  She  was 
the  heiress  to  at  least  five  thousand  a  year,  and  knew 
it  well,  but  she  never  encouraged  her  father  to  com- 
plicate their  simple  mode  of  life  with  the  pomps  of 
wealth.  They  lived  in  a  house  with  a  large  garden 
at  Pireford,  which  is  on  the  summit  of  the  steep 
ridge  between  the  Five  Towns  and  Oldcastlc,  and 
they  kept  two  servants  and  a  coachman,  who  was 
also  gardener.  Eva  paid  the  servants  good  wages, 
and  took  care  to  get  good  value  therefor. 

"  It's  not  often  I  have  any  bother  with  my  serv- 
ants," she  would  say,  "  for  they  know  that  if  there 
is  any  trouble  I  would  just  as  soon  clear  them  out 
and  put  on  an  apron  and  do  the  work  myself." 

She  was  an  accomplished  house-mistress,  and  could 
bake  her  own  bread:  in  towns  not  one  woman  in  a 


226    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

thousand  can  bake.  With  the  coachman  she  had 
little  to  do,  for  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  a  senti- 
mental objection  to  the  carriage  —  it  savoured  of 
"  airs  " ;  when  she  used  it  she  used  it  as  she  might 
use  a  tramcar.  It  was  her  custom,  every  day  ex- 
cept Saturday,  to  walk  to  the  shop  about  eleven 
o'clock,  after  her  house  had  been  set  in  order.  She 
had  been  thoroughly  trained  in  the  business,  and  had 
spent  a  year  at  a  first-rate  shop  in  High  Street,  Ken- 
sington. Millinery  was  her  speciality,  and  she  still 
watched  over  that  department  with  a  particular  at- 
tention ;  but  for  some  time  past  she  had  risen  beyond 
the  limitations  of  departments,  and  assisted  her 
father  in  the  general  management  of  the  vast  con- 
cern. In  commercial  aptitude  she  resembled  the 
typical  Frenchwoman. 

Although  he  was  her  father,  Ezra  Brunt  had  the 
wit  to  recognise  her  talents,  and  he  always  listened 
to  her  suggestions,  which,  however,  sometimes 
startled  him.  One  of  them  was  that  he  should  im- 
port into  the  Five  Towns  a  modiste  from  Paris, 
offering  a  salary  of  two  hundred  a  year.  The  old 
provincial  stood  aghast.  He  had  the  idea  that  all 
Parisian  women  were  stage-dancers.  And  to  pay 
four  pounds  a  week  to  a  female  I 

Nevertheless,  Mademoiselle  Bertot  —  styled  in 
the  shop  "  Madame  " —  now  presides  over  Ezra 
Brunt's  dressmakers,  draws  her  four  pounds  a  week 
(of  which  she  saves  two),  and  by  mere  nationality 
has  given  a  unique  distinction  and  success  to  her 
branch  of  the  business. 


A  FEUD  227 

Eva  occupied  a  small  room  opening  off  the  prin- 
cipal showroom,  and  during  hours  of  work  she  issued 
thence  but  seldom.  Only  customers  of  the  highest 
importance  might  speak  with  her.  She  was  a  power 
felt  rather  than  seen.  Employes  who  knocked  at 
her  door  always  did  so  with  a  certain  awe  of  what 
awaited  them  on  the  other  side,  and  a  consciousness 
that  the  moment  was  unsuitable  for  levity.  "  If  you 

please,  Miss  Eva "  Here  she  gave  audience  to 

the  "  buyers  "  and  window-dressers,  listened  to  com- 
plaints and  excuses,  and  occasionally  had  a  secret 
orgy  of  afternoon  tea  with  one  or  two  of  her  friends. 
None  but  these  few  girls  —  mostly  younger  than  her- 
self, and  remarkable  only  in  that  their  dislike  of  the 
snobbery  of  the  Five  Towns,  though  less  fiercely  dis- 
played, agreed  with  her  own  —  really  knew  Eva. 
To  them  alone  did  she  unveil  herself,  and  by  them 
she  was  idolised. 

"  She  is  simply  splendid  when  you  know  her  — 
such  a  jolly  girl!  "  they  would  say  to  other  people; 
but  other  people,  especially  other  women,  could  not 
believe  it.  They  fearfully  respected  her  because  she 
was  very  well  dressed  and  had  quantities  of  money. 
But  they  called  her  "  a  curious  creature  " ;  it  was 
inconceivable  to  them  that  she  should  choose  to  work 
in  a  shop ;  and  her  tongue  had  a  causticity  which  was 
sometimes  exceedingly  disconcerting  and  mortifying. 
As  for  men,  she  was  shy  of  them,  and,  moreover, 
she  loathed  the  elaborate  and  insincere  ritual  of 
deference  which  the  average  man  practises  towards 
women  unrelated  to  him,  particularly  when  they  are 


228     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

young  and  rich.  Her  father  she  adored,  without 
knowing  it;  for  he  often  angered  her,  and  humiliated 
her  in  private.  As  for  the  rest,  she  was,  after  all, 
only  six-and-twenty. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I  should  like  to  walk  along 
with  you,"  Clive  Timmis  said  to  her  one  Sunday 
evening  in  the  porch  of  the  Bethesda  Chapel. 

"  I  shall  be  glad,"  she  answered  at  once;  "  father 
isn't  here,  and  I'm  all  alone." 

Ezra  Brunt  was  indeed  seldom  there,  counting  in 
the  matter  of  attendance  at  chapel  among  what  were 
called  "  the  weaker  brethren." 

"  I  am  going  over  to  Oldcastle,"  Clive  explained 
calmly. 

So  began  the  formal  courtship  —  more  than  a 
month  after  Clive  had  settled  in  Machin  Street,  for 
he  was  far  too  discreet  to  engender  by  precipitancy 
any  suspicion  in  the  haunts  of  scandal  that  his  true 
reason  for  establishing  himself  in  his  uncle's  house- 
hold was  a  certain  rich  young  woman  who  was  to  be 
found  every  day  next  door.  Guided  as  much  by  in- 
stinct as  by  tact,  Clive  approached  Eva  with  an 
almost  savage  simplicity  and  naturalness  of  manner, 
ignoring  not  only  her  father's  wealth,  but  all  the 
feigned  punctilio  of  a  wooer.  His  face  said:  "  Let 
there  be  no  beating  about  the  bush  —  I  like  you." 
Hers  answered:  "  Good!  we  will  see." 

From  the  first  he  pleased  her,  and  not  least  in 
treating  her  exactly  as  she  would  have  wished  to  be 
treated  —  namely,  as  a  quite  plain  person  of  that 
part  of  the  middle  class  which  is  neither  upper  nor 


A  FEUD  229 

lower.  Few  men  in  the  Five  Towns  would  have 
been  capable  of  forgetting  Ezra  Brunt's  income  in 
talking  to  Ezra  Brunt's  daughter.  Fortunately, 
Timmis  had  a  proud,  confident  spirit  —  the  spirit  of 
one  who,  unaided,  has  wrested  success  from  the 
world's  deathlike  clutch.  Had  Eva  the  reversion  of 
fifty  thousand  a  year  instead  of  five,  he,  Clive,  was 
still  a  prosperous  plain  man,  well  able  to  support 
a  wife  in  the  position  to  which  God  had  called  him. 
Their  walks  together  grew  more  and  more  fre- 
quent, and  they  became  intimate,  exchanging  ideas 
and  rejoicing  openly  at  the  similarity  of  those  ideas. 
Although  there  was  no  concealment  in  these  encoun- 
ters, still,  there  was  a  circumspection  which  resembled 
the  clandestine.  By  a  silent  understanding  Clive  did 
not  enter  the  house  at  Pireford;  to  have  done  so 
would  have  excited  remark,  for  this  house,  unlike 
some,  had  never  been  the  rendezvous  of  young  men; 
much  less,  therefore,  did  he  invade  the  shop.  No  I 
The  chief  part  of  their  love-making  (for  such  it 
was,  though  the  term  would  have  roused  Eva's  con- 
temptuous anger)  occurred  in  the  streets;  in  this 
they  did  but  follow  the  traditions  of  their  class. 
Thus,  the  idyll,  so  matter-of-fact  upon  the  surface, 
but  within  which  glowed  secret  and  adorable  fires, 
progressed  towards  its  culmination.  Eva,  the  art- 
less fool  —  oh,  how  simple  are  the  wisest  at  times! 
—  thought  that  the  affair  was  hid  from  the  shop. 
But  was  it  possible?  Was  it  possible  that  in  those 
tiny  bedrooms  on  the  third  floor,  where  the  heavy 
evening  hours  were  ever  lightened  with  breathless 


230    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

interminable  recitals  of  what  some  "  he  "  had  said 
and  some  "  she "  had  replied,  such  an  enthralling 
episode  should  escape  discovery?  The  dormitories 
knew  of  Eva's  "  attachment "  before  Eva  herself. 
Yet  none  knew  how  it  was  known.  The  whisper 
arose  like  Venus  from  a  sea  of  trivial  gossip, 
miraculously,  exquisitely.  On  the  night  when  the 
first  rumour  of  it  traversed  the  passages  there  was 
scarcely  any  sleep  at  Brunt's,  while  Eva  up  at  Pire- 
ford  slumbered  as  a  young  girl. 

On  the  Thursday  afternoon  with  which  we  began, 
Brunt's  was  deserted  save  for  the  housekeeper  and 
Eva,  who  was  writing  letters  in  her  room. 

"  I  saw  you  from  my  window,  coming  up  the 
street,"  she  said  to  Clive,  "  and  so  I  ran  down  to 
open  the  door.  Will  you  come  into  father's  room? 
He  is  in  Manchester  for  the  day,  buying." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Timmis. 

"How  did  you  know?"  She  observed  that  his 
manner  was  somewhat  nervous  and  constrained. 

"  You  yourself  told  me  last  night  —  don't  you  re- 
member? " 

"  So  I  did." 

"  That's  why  I  sent  the  note  round  this  morning 
to  say  I'd  call  this  afternoon.  You  got  it,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

She  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  what  is  this  business  you  want  to  talk 
about?" 

It  was  spoken  with  a  brave  carelessness,  but  he 
caught  the  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  saw  her  little 


A  FEUD  231 

hand  shake  as  it  lay  on  the  table  amid  her  father's 
papers.  Without  knowing  why  he  should  do  so,  he 
stepped  hastily  forward  and  seized  that  hand.  Her 
emotion  unmanned  him.  He  thought  he  was  going 
to  cry;  he  could  not  account  for  himself. 

"  Eva,"  he  said  thickly,  "  you  know  what  the  busi- 
ness is;  you  know,  don't  you?  " 

She  smiled.  That  smile,  the  softness  of  her  hand, 
the  sparkle  in  her  eye,  the  heave  of  her  small  bosom 

.  .  it  was  the  divinest  miracle !  Clive,  manu- 
facturer of  majolica,  went  hot  and  then  cold,  and 
then  his  wits  were  suddenly  his  own  again. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  murmured,  and  sighed,  and 
placed  on  Eva's  lips  the  first  kiss  that  had  ever  lain 
there. 

"  Dear  boy,"  she  said  later,  "  you  should  have 
come  up  to  Pireford,  not  here,  and  when  father  was 
there." 

"  Should  I  ?  "  he  answered  happily.  "  It  just  oc- 
curred to  me  all  of  a  sudden  this  morning  that  you 
would  be  here,  and  that  I  couldn't  wait." 

"  You  will  come  up  to-night  and  see  father?  " 

"  I  had  meant  to." 

"  You  had  better  go  home  now." 

"Had  I?" 

She  nodded,  putting  her  lips  tightly  together  —  a 
trick  of  hers. 

"  Come  up  about  half-past  eight." 

"Good!     I  will  let  myself  out." 

He  left  her,  and  she  gazed  dreamily  at  the  win- 
dow, which  looked  on  to  a  whitewashed  yard.  The 


232     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

next  moment  someone  else  entered  the  room  with 
heavy  footsteps.  She  turned  round  a  little  startled. 

It  was  her  father. 

"  Why  1  You  are  back  early,  father !  How 
She  stopped.  Something  in  the  old  man's 
glance  gave  her  a  premonition  of  disaster.  To  this 
day  she  does  not  know  what  accident  brought  him 
from  Manchester  two  hours  sooner  than  usual,  and 
to  Machin  Street  instead  of  Pireford. 

"Has  young  Timmis  been  here?"  he  enquired 
curtly. 

11  Yes." 

"  Ha !  "  with  subdued,  sinister  satisfaction,  "  I 
saw  him  going  out.  He  didna  see  me."  Ezra 
Brunt  deposited  his  hat  and  sat  down. 

Intimate  with  all  her  father's  various  moods,  she 
saw  instantly  and  with  terrible  certainty  that  a  series 
of  chances  had  fatally  combined  themselves  against 
her.  If  only  she  had  not  happened  to  tell  Clive  that 
her  father  would  be  at  Manchester  this  day!  If 
only  her  father  had  adhered  to  his  customary  hour 
of  return !  If  only  Clive  had  had  the  sense  to  make 
his  proposal  openly  at  Pireford  some  evening!  If 
only  he  had  left  a  little  earlier !  If  only  her  father 
had  not  caught  him  going  out  by  the  side-door  on 
a  Thursday  afternoon  when  the  place  was  empty! 
Here,  she  guessed,  was  the  suggestion  of  furtiveness 
which  had  raised  her  father's  unreasoning  anger, 
often  fierce,  and  always  incalculable. 

"  Clive  Timmis  has  asked  me  to  marry  him, 
father." 


A  FEUD  233 

"Has  he?" 

"  Surely  you  must  have  known,  father,  that  he  and 
I  were  seeing  each  other  a  great  deal." 

"  Not  from  your  lips,  my  girl." 

"  Well,  father "  Again  she  stopped,  this 

strong  and  capable  woman,  gifted  with  a  fine  brain 
to  organise  and  a  powerful  will  to  command.  She 
quailed,  robbed  of  speech,  before  the  causeless,  vin- 
dictive, and  infantile  wrath  of  an  old  man  who  hap- 
pened to  be  in  a  bad  temper.  She  actually  felt  like 
a  naughty  schoolgirl  before  him.  Such  is  the  tre- 
mendous influence  of  lifelong  habit,  the  irresistible 
power  of  the  patria  potestas  when  it  has  never  been 
relaxed.  Ezra  Brunt  saw  in  front  of  him  only  a 
cowering  child.  "  Clive  is  coming  up  to  see  you 
to-night,"  she  went  on  timidly,  clearing  her  throat. 

"Humph!  Is  he?" 

The  rosy  and  tender  dream  of  five  minutes  ago 
lay  in  fragments  at  Eva's  feet.  She  brooded  with 
stricken  apprehension  upon  the  forms  of  obstruction 
which  his  despotism  might  choose. 

The  next  morning  Clive  and  his  uncle  break- 
fasted together  as  usual  in  the  parlour  behind  the 
chemist's  shop. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Clive  brusquely,  when  the  meal 
was  nearly  finished,  "  I'd  better  tell  you  that  I've 
proposed  to  Eva  Brunt." 

Old  George  Timmis  lowered  the  Manchester 
Guardian  and  gazed  at  Clive  over  his  steel-rimmed 
spectacles. 


234    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"She's  a  good  girl,"  he  remarked;  "she  will 
make  you  a  good  wife.  Have  you  spoken  to  her 
father?" 

"  That's  the  point.  I  saw  him  last  night  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  he  said.  These  were  his  words: 
1  You  can  marry  my  daughter,  Mr.  Timmis,  when 
your  uncle  agrees  to  part  with  his  shop ! ' 

"  That  I  shall  never  do,  nephew,"  said  the  aged 
patriarch  quietly  and  deliberately. 

"  Of  course  you  won't,  uncle.  I  shouldn't  think 
of  suggesting  it.  I'm  merely  telling  you  what  he 
said."  Clive  laughed  harshly.  "  Why,"  he  added, 
"  the  man  must  be  mad !  " 

"What  did  the  young  woman  say  to  that?"  his 
uncle  inquired. 

Clive  frowned. 

"  I  didn't  see  her  last  night,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't 
ask  to  see  her.  I  was  too  angry." 

Just  then  the  post  arrived,  and  there  was  a  letter 
for  Clive,  which  he  read  and  put  carefully  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

"  Eva  writes  asking  me  to  go  to  Pireford  to- 
night," he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  I'll  soon  settle  it, 
depend  on  that.  If  Ezra  Brunt  refuses  his  con- 
sent, so  much  the  worse  for  him.  I  wonder  whether 
he  actually  imagines  that  a  grown  man  and  a  grown 
woman  are  to  be  .  .  .  Ah,  well,  I  can't  talk 
about  it!  It's  too  silly.  I'll  be  off  to  the  works." 

When  Clive  reached  Pireford  that  night,  Eva 
herself  opened  the  door  to  him.  She  was  wearing 


A  FEUD  235 

a  grey  frock,  and  over  it  a  large  white  apron,  per- 
fectly plain. 

"  My  girls  are  both  out  to-night,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  was  making  some  puffs  for  the  sewing-meeting 
tea.  Come  into  the  breakfast-room. 
This  way,"  she  added,  guiding  him.  He  had  en- 
tered the  house  on  the  previous  night  for  the  first 
time.  She  spoke  hurriedly,  and,  instead  of  stopping 
in  the  breakfast-room,  wandered  uncertainly 
through  it  into  the  greenhouse,  to  which  it  gave 
access  by  means  of  a  French  window.  In  the  dark, 
confined  space,  amid  the  close-packed  blossoms,  they 
stood  together.  She  bent  down  to  smell  at  a  musk- 
plant.  He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  soft  and 
yielding  form  towards  him  and  kissed  her  warm  face. 

"  Oh,  Clive !  "  she  said.  "  Whatever  are  we  to 
do?" 

"Do?"  he  replied,  enchanted  by  her  instinctive 
feminine  surrender  and  reliance  upon  him,  which 
seemed  the  more  precious  in  that  creature  so  proud 
and  reserved  to  all  others.  "  Dol  Where  is  your 
father?" 

"  Reading  the  Signal  in  the  dining-room." 

Every  business  man  in  the  Five  Towns  reads  the 
Staffordshire  Signal  from  beginning  to  end  every 
night. 

"  I  will  see  him.  Of  course  he  is  your  father; 
but  I  will  just  tell  him  —  as  decently  as  I  can  — 
that  neither  you  nor  I  will  stand  this  nonsense." 

"  You  mustn't  —  you  mustn't  see  him." 


236     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  will  only  lead  to  unpleasantness." 

"  That  can't  be  helped." 

"  He  never,  never  changes  when  once  he  has  said 
a  thing.  I  know  him." 

Clive  was  arrested  by  something  in  her  tone,  some- 
thing new  to  him,  that  in  its  poignant  finality  seemed 
to  have  caught  up  and  expressed  in  a  single  instant 
that  bitterness  of  a  lifetime's  renunciation  which  falls 
to  the  lot  of  most  women. 

"  Will  you  come  outside?  "  he  asked  in  a  different 
voice. 

Without  replying,  she  led  the  way  down  the  long 
garden,  which  ended  in  an  ivy-grown  brick  wall  and 
a  panorama  of  the  immense  valley  of  industries  be- 
low. It  was  a  warm,  cloudy  evening.  The  last 
silver  tinge  of  an  August  twilight  lay  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  hill  to  the  left.  There  was  no  moon,  but  the 
splendid  watch-fires  of  labour  flamed  from  ore- 
heap  and  furnace  across  the  whole  expanse,  perform- 
ing their  nightly  miracle  of  beauty.  Trains  crept 
with  noiseless  mystery  along  the  middle  distance, 
under  their  canopies  of  yellow  steam.  Further  off 
the  far-extending  streets  of  Hanbrldge  made  a  map 
of  starry  lines  on  the  blackness.  To  the  south-east 
stared  the  cold,  blue  electric  lights  of  Knype  railway- 
station.  All  was  silent,  save  for  a  distant  thunder- 
ous roar,  the  giant  breathing  of  the  forge  at  Caul- 
don  Bar  Ironworks. 

Eva  leaned  both  elbows  on  the  wall  and  looked 
forth. 


A  FEUD  237 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Clive,  "  that  Mr. 
Brunt  will  actually  stick  by  what  he  has  said?  " 

"  Like  grim  death,"  said  Eva. 

"But  what's  his  idea?" 

"  Oh !  how  can  I  tell  you  ?  "  she  burst  out  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Perhaps  I  did  wrong.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
warned  him  earlier  —  said  to  him,  '  Father,  Clive 
Timmis  is  courting  me !  '  Ugh !  He  cannot  bear 
to  be  surprised  about  anything.  But  yet  he  must 
have  known.  ...  It  was  all  an  accident,  Clive 
—  all  an  accident.  He  saw  you  leaving  the  shop 
yesterday.  He  would  say  he  caught  you  leaving  the 
shop  —  sneaking  off  like " 

"But  Eva " 

"  I  know  —  I  know  1  Don't  tell  me !  But  it  was 
that,  I  am  sure.  He  would  resent  the  mere  look  of 
things,  and  then  he  would  think  and  think,  and  the 
notion  of  your  uncle's  shop  would  occur  to  him 
again,  after  all  these  years.  I  can  see  his  thoughts 
as  plain  .  .  .  My  dear,  if  he  had  not  seen  you 
at  Machin  Street  yesterday,  or  if  you  had  seen  him 
and  spoken  to  him,  all  might  have  gone  right.  He 
would  have  objected,  but  he  would  have  given  way 
in  a  day  or  two.  Now  he  will  never  give  way!  I 
asked  you  just  now  what  was  to  be  done,  but  I 
knew  all  the  time  that  there  was  nothing." 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  be  done,  Eva,  and  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  old  Mr.  Timmis  must  give 
up  his  shop  to  my  father?  Never!  never!  " 


238     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  I  mean,"  said  Clive  quietly,  "  that  we  must  marry 
without  your  father's  consent." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  and  sadly,  relapsing 
into  calmness. 

"  You  shake  your  head,  Eva,  but  it  must  be  so." 

"  I  can't,  my  dear." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  allow  your 
father's  childish  whim  —  for  it's  nothing  else ;  he 
can't  find  any  objection  to  me  as  a  husband  for  you, 
and  he  knows  it  —  that  you  will  allow  his  childish 
whim  to  spoil  your  life  and  mine?  Remember,  you 
are  twenty-six  and  I  am  thirty-two." 

"  I  can't  do  it !  I  daren't !  I'm  mad  with  myself 
for  feeling  like  this,  but  I  daren't  1  And  even  if 
I  dared  I  wouldn't.  Clive,  you  don't  know!  You 
can't  tell  how  it  is !  " 

Her  sorrowful,  pathetic  firmness  daunted  him. 
She  was  now  composed,  mistress  again  of  herself, 
and  her  moral  force  dominated  him. 

"  Then,  you  and  I  are  to  be  unhappy  all  our  lives, 
Eva?" 

The  soft  influences  of  the  night  seemed  to  direct 
her  voice  as,  after  a  long  pause,  she  uttered  the 
words :  "  No  one  is  ever  quite  unhappy  in  all  this 
world."  There  was  another  pause,  as  she  gazed 
steadily  down  into  the  wonderful  valley.  "  We 
must  wait." 

"  Wait !  "  echoed  Clive  with  angry  grimness. 
"  He  will  live  for  twenty  years  I  " 

"  No  one  is  ever  quite  unhappy  in  all  this  world," 


A  FEUD  239 

she  repeated  dreamily,  as  one  might  turn  over  a 
treasure  in  order  to  examine  it. 

Now  for  the  epilogue  to  the  feud.  Two  years 
passed,  and  it  happened  that  there  was  to  be  a  Re- 
vival at  the  Bethesda  Chapel.  One  morning  the 
superintendent  minister  and  the  revivalist  called  on 
Ezra  Brunt  at  his  shop.  When  informed  of  their 
presence,  the  great  draper  had  an  impulse  of  anger, 
for,  like  many  stouter  chapel-goers  than  himself, 
he  would  scarcely  tolerate  the  intrusion  of  religion 
into  commerce.  However,  the  visit  had  an  air  of 
ceremony,  and  he  could  not  decline  to  see  these  am- 
bassadors of  heaven  in  his  private  room.  The  re- 
vivalist, a  cheery,  shrewd  man,  whose  powers  of 
organisation  were  obvious,  and  who  seemed  to  put 
organisation  before  everything  else,  pleased  Ezra 
Brunt  at  once. 

"  We  want  a  specially  good  congregation  at  the 
opening  meeting  to-night,"  said  the  revivalist. 
"  Now,  the  basis  of  a  good  congregation  must 
necessarily  be  the  regular  pillars  of  the  church,  and 
therefore  we  are  making  a  few  calls  this  morning 
to  insure  the  presence  of  our  chief  men  —  the  men 
of  influence  and  position.  You  will  come,  Mr. 
Brunt,  and  you  will  let  it  be  known  among  your 
employes  that  they  will  please  you  by  coming  too?  " 

Ezra  Brunt  was  by  no  means  a  regular  pillar  of 
the  Bethesda,  but  he  had  a  vague  sensation  of  flat- 
tery, and  he  consented;  indeed,  there  was  no  alter- 
native. 


240    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  first  hymn  was  being  sung  when  he  reached 
the  chapel.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  the  place 
crowded  in  every  part.  A  man  whom  he  did  not 
know  led  him  to  a  wooden  form  which  had  been 
put  in  the  space  between  the  front  pews  and  the 
Communion-rail.  He  felt  strange  there,  and  un- 
easy, apprehensive. 

The  usual  discreet  somnolence  of  the  chapel  had 
been  disturbed  as  by  some  indecorous  but  formidable 
awakener;  the  air  was  electric;  anything  might 
occur.  Ezra  was  astounded  by  the  mere  volume  of 
the  singing;  never  had  he  heard  such  singing.  At 
the  end  of  the  hymn  the  congregation  sat  down,  hid- 
ing their  faces  in  expectation.  The  revivalist  stood 
erect  and  terrible  in  the  pulpit,  no  longer  a  shrewd, 
cheery  man  of  the  world,  but  the  very  mouthpiece 
of  the  wrath  and  mercy  of  God.  Ezra's  self-im- 
portance dwindled  before  that  gaze,  till,  from  a 
renowned  magnate  of  the  Five  Towns,  he  became 
an  item  in  the  multitude  of  suppliants.  He  pro- 
foundly wished  he  had  never  come. 

"  Remember  the  hymn,"  said  the  revivalist,  with 
austere  emphasis: 

"  '  My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss, 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride.'  " 

The  admirable  histrionic  art  with  which  he  in- 
tensified the  consonants  in  the  last  line  produced  a 
tremendous  effect.  Not  for  nothing  was  this  man 
celebrated  throughout  Methodism  as  a  saver  of 


A  FEUD  241 

souls.  When,  after  a  pause,  he  raised  his  hand  and 
ejaculated,  "  Let  us  pray,"  sobs  could  be  heard 
throughout  the  chapel.  The  Revival  had  begun. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Ezra  Brunt 
would  have  given  fifty  pounds  to  be  outside,  but 
he  could  not  stir;  he  was  magnetised.  Soon  the 
revivalist  came  down  from  the  pulpit  and  stood 
within  the  Communion-rail,  whence  he  addressed 
the  nearmost  part  of  the  people  in  low,  soothing 
tones  of  persuasion.  Apparently  he  ignored  Ezra 
Brunt,  but  the  man  was  convicted  of  sin,  and  felt 
himself  melting  like  an  icicle  in  front  of  a  fire.  He 
recalled  the  days  of  his  youth,  the  piety  of  his  father 
and  mother,  and  the  long  traditions  of  a  stern  Dis- 
senting family.  He  had  backslidden,  slackened  in 
the  use  of  the  means  of  grace,  run  after  the  things 
of  this  world.  It  is  true  that  none  of  his  chiefest 
iniquities  presented  themselves  to  him;  he  was  quite 
unconscious  of  them  even  then;  but  the  lesser  ones 
were  more  than  sufficient  to  overwhelm  him. 
Class-leaders  were  now  reasoning  with  stricken  sin- 
ners, and  Ezra,  who  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the 
revivalist,  heard  the  footsteps  of  those  who  were 
going  to  the  "  inquiry-room  "  for  more  private  coun- 
sel. In  vain  he  argued  that  he  was  about  to  be 
ridiculous;  that  the  idea  of  him,  Ezra  Brunt,  a  pro- 
fessed Wesleyan  for  half  a  century,  being  publicly 
"  saved  "  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven  was  not  to  be 
entertained;  that  the  town  would  talk;  that  his  busi- 
ness might  suffer  if  for  any  reason  he  should  be 
morally  bound  to  apply  to  it  too  strictly  the  prin- 


242     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

ciples  of  the  New  Testament.  He  was  under  the 
spell.  The  tears  coursed  down  his  long  cheeks,  and 
he  forgot  to  care,  but  sat  entranced  by  the  revivalist's 
marvellous  voice.  Suddenly,  with  an  awful  sob,  he 
bent  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  spectacle 
of  the  old,  proud  man  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  pro- 
found emotion  was  a  sight  to  rend  the  heart-strings. 

"  Brother,  be  of  good  cheer,"  said  a  tremulous 
and  benign  voice  above  him.  "  The  love  of  God 
compasseth  all  things.  Only  believe." 

He  looked  up  and  saw  the  venerable  face  and 
long  white  beard  of  George  Christopher  Timmis. 

Ezra  Brunt  shrank  away,  embittered  and 
ashamed. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  murmured  with  difficulty. 

"  The  love  of  God  is  all-powerful." 

"  Will  it  make  you  part  with  that  bit  o1  property, 
think  you?"  said  Ezra  Brunt,  with  a  kind  of 
despairing  ferocity. 

"  Brother,"  replied  the  aged  servant  of  God,  un- 
moved, "  if  my  shop  is  in  truth  a  stumbling-block 
in  this  solemn  hour,  you  shall  have  it." 

Ezra  Brunt  was  staggered. 

"  I  believe  !     I  believe !  "  he  cried. 

"Praise  God!"  said  the  chemist,  with  majestic 
joy- 
Three  months  afterwards  Eva  Brunt  and  Clive 
Timmis  were  married.  It  is  characteristic  of  the 
fine  sentimentality  which  underlies  the  surface  harsh- 
ness of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Five  Towns  that, 


A  FEUD  243 

v 
though  No.  54  Machin  Street  was  duly  transferred 

to  Ezra  Brunt,  the  chemist  retiring  from  business, 
he  has  never  rebuilt  it  to  accord  with  the  rest  of 
his  premises.  In  all  its  shabbiness  it  stands  between 
the  other  big  dazzling  shops  as  a  reminding  monu- 
ment. 


IN  the  Five  Towns  the  following  history  is  re- 
lated by  those  who  know  it  as  something  side- 
splittingly   funny  —  as    one   of  the   best   jokes 
that  ever  occurred  in  a  district  devoted  to   jokes. 
And  I,  too,  have  hitherto  regarded  it  as  such.     But 
upon  my  soul,  now  that  I  come  to  write  it  down, 
it   strikes    me    as    being,    after    all,    a    pretty    grim 
tragedy.     However,  you  shall  judge,  and  laugh  or 
cry  as  you  please. 

It  began  in  the  little  house  of  Mrs.  Carpole,  up 
at  Bleakridge,  on  the  hill  between  Bursley  and 
Hanbridge.  Mrs.  Carpole  was  the  second  Mrs. 
Carpole,  and  her  husband  was  dead.  She  had  a 
stepson,  Horace,  and  a  son  of  her  own,  Sidney. 
Horace  is  the  hero,  or  the  villain,  of  the  history. 
On  the  day  when  the  unfortunate  affair  began  he 
was  nineteen  years  old,  and  a  model  youth.  Not 
only  was  he  getting  on  in  business,  not  only  did  he 
give  half  his  evenings  to  the  study  of  the  chemistry 
of  pottery  and  the  other  half  to  various  secretaryships 
in  connection  with  the  Wesleyan  Methodist  Chapel 
and  Sunday-school,  not  only  did  he  save  money,  not 
only  was  he  a  comfort  to  his  stepmother  and  a  sort 

244 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  245 

of  uncle  to  Sidney,  not  only  was  he  an  early  riser, 
a  total  abstainer,  a  non-smoker,  and  a  good  listener; 
but,  in  addition  to  the  practice  of  these  manifold  and 
rare  virtues,  he  found  time,  even  at  that  tender  age, 
to  pay  his  tailor's  bill  promptly  and  to  fold  his 
trousers  in  the  same  crease  every  night  —  so  that  he 
always  looked  neat  and  dignified.  Strange  to  say,  he 
made  no  friends.  Perhaps  he  was  just  a  thought  too 
perfect  for  a  district  like  the  Five  Towns ;  a  sin  or  so 
might  have  endeared  him  to  the  entire  neighbour- 
hood. Perhaps  his  loneliness  was  due  to  his  imper- 
fect sense  of  humour,  or  perhaps  to  the  dull,  un- 
smiling heaviness  of  his  somewhat  flat  features. 

Sidney  was  quite  a  different  story.  Sidney,  to  use 
his  mother's  phrase,  was  a  little  jockey.  His  years 
were  then  eight.  Fair-haired  and  blue-eyed,  as  most 
little  jockeys  are,  he  had  a  smile  and  a  scowl  that 
were  equally  effective  in  tyrannising  over  both  his 
mother  and  Horace,  and  he  was  beloved  by  every- 
body. Women  turned  to  look  at  him  in  the  street. 
Unhappily,  his  health  was  not  good.  He  was  af- 
flicted by  a  slight  deafness,  which,  however,  the  doc- 
tor said  he  would  grow  out  of;  the  doctor  predicted 
for  him  a  lusty  manhood.  In  the  meantime,  he 
caught  every  disease  that  happened  to  be  about,  and 
nearly  died  of  each  one.  His  latest  acquisition  had 
been  scarlet  fever.  Now  one  afternoon,  after  he  had 
"  peeled  "  and  his  room  had  been  disinfected,  and 
he  was  beginning  to  walk  again,  Horace  came  home 
and  decided  that  Sidney  should  be  brought  down- 
stairs for  tea  as  a  treat,  to  celebrate  his  convalescence, 


246     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  that  he,  Horace,  would  carry  him  down-stairs. 
Mrs.  Carpole  was  delighted  with  the  idea,  and  Sid- 
ney also,  except  that  Sidney  did  not  want  to  be 
carried  down-stairs  —  he  wanted  to  walk  down. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  better  for  him  to  walk,  Horace 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carpole,  in  her  thin,  plaintive  voice. 
"  He  can,  quite  well.  And  you  know  how  clumsy 
you  are.  Supposing  you  were  to  fall !  " 

Horace,  nevertheless,  in  pursuance  of  his  pro- 
gramme of  being  uncle  to  Sidney,  was  determined 
to  carry  Sidney.  And  carry  Sidney  he  did,  despite 
warnings  and  kickings.  At  least  he  carried  him  as 
far  as  the  turn  in  the  steep  stairs,  at  which  point  he 
fell,  just  as  his  stepmother  had  feared,  and  Sidney 
with  him.  The  half-brothers  arrived  on  the  ground 
floor  in  company,  but  Horace,  with  his  eleven  stone 
two,  was  on  top,  and  the  poor  suffering  little  con- 
valescent lay  moveless  and  insensible. 

It  took  the  doctor  forty  minutes  to  bring  him  to, 
and  all  the  time  the  odour  of  grilled  herrings,  which 
formed  part  of  the  uneaten  tea,  made  itself  felt 
through  the  house  like  a  Satanic  comment  on  the 
spectacle  of  human  life.  The  scene  was  dreadful 
at  first.  The  agony  then  passed.  There  were  no 
bruises  on  the  boy,  not  a  mark,  and  in  a  couple  of 
hours  he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  himself.  Horace 
breathed  again,  and  thanked  Heaven  it  was  no  worse. 
His  gratitude  to  Heaven  was,  however,  slightly  pre- 
mature, for  in  the  black  middle  of  the  night  poor 
Sidney  was  seized  with  excruciating  pains  in  the 
head,  and  the  doctor  lost  four  hours'  sleep.  These 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  247 

pains  returned  at  intervals  of  a  few  days,  and 
naturally  the  child's  convalescence  was  retarded. 
Then  Horace  said  that  Mrs.  Carpole  should  take 
Sidney  to  Buxton  for  a  fortnight,  and  he  paid  all 
the  expenses  of  the  trip  out  of  his  savings.  He  was 
desolated,  utterly  stricken;  he  said  he  should  never 
forgive  himself.  Sidney  improved,  slowly. 

II 

After  several  months,  during  which  Horace  had 
given  up  all  his  limited  spare  time  to  the  super- 
intendence of  the  child's  first  steps  in  knowledge, 
Sidney  was  judged  to  be  sufficiently  strong  to  go  to 
school,  and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  attend 
the  Endowed  School  at  the  Wedgwood  Institution. 
Horace  accompanied  him  thither  on  the  opening 
day  of  the  term  —  it  was  an  inclement  morning  in 
January  —  and  left  the  young  delicate  sprig,  appar- 
ently joyous  and  content,  to  the  care  of  his  masters 
and  the  mercy  of  his  companions.  But  Sidney  came 
home  for  dinner  weeping  —  weeping  in  spite  of  his 
new  mortar-board  cap,  his  new  satchel,  his  new  box 
of  compasses  and  his  new  books.  His  mother  kept 
him  at  home  in  the  afternoon,  and  by  the  evening 
another  of  those  terrible  attacks  had  supervened. 
The  doctor  and  Horace  and  Mrs.  Carpole  once  more 
lost  much  precious  sleep.  The  mysterious  malady 
continued.  School  was  out  of  the  question. 

And  when  Sidney  took  the  air,  in  charge  of  his 
mother,  everybody  stopped  to  sympathise  with  him 
and  to  stroke  his  curls  and  call  him  a  poor  dear,  and 


248     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

also  to  commiserate  Mrs.  Carpole.  As  for  Horace, 
Bursley  tried  to  feel  sorry  for  Horace,  but  it  only 
succeeded  in  showing  Horace  that  it  was  hiding  a 
sentiment  of  indignation  against  him.  Each  friendly 
face  as  it  passed  Horace  in  the  street  said,  without 
words,  "  There  goes  the  youth  who  probably  ruined 
his  young  stepbrother's  life.  And  through  sheer 
obstinacy  too!  He  dropped  the  little  darling  in 
spite  of  warnings  and  protests,  and  then  fell  on  top 
of  him.  Of  course,  he  didn't  do  it  on  purpose, 
but " 

The  doctor  mentioned  Greatorex  of  Manchester, 
the  celebrated  brain  specialist.  And  Horace  took 
Sidney  to  Manchester.  They  had  to  wait  an  hour 
and  a  quarter  to  see  Greatorex,  his  well-known  con- 
sulting-rooms in  John  Dalton  Street  being  crowded 
with  imperfect  brains;  but  their  turn  came  at  last, 
and  they  found  themselves  in  Greatorex's  presence. 
Greatorex  was  a  fat  man,  with  the  voice  of  a  thin 
man,  who  seemed  to  spend  the  whole  of  his  career  in 
the  care  of  his  finger-nails. 

"  Well,  my  little  fellow,  said  Greatorex,  "  don't 
cry."  ( For  Sidney  was  already  crying. )  And  then 
to  Horace,  in  a  curt  tone:  "  What  is  it?  " 

And  Horace  was  obliged  to  humiliate  himself  and 
relate  the  accident  in  detail,  together  with  all  that 
had  subsequently  happened. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes !  "  Greatorex  would  punctuate 
the  recital,  and  when  tired  of  "  yes  "  he  would  say 
"  Hum,  hum,  hum,  hum !  " 

When  he  had  said  "  hum  "  seventy-two  times  he 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  249 

suddenly  remarked  that  his  fee  was  three  guineas, 
and  told  Horace  to  strengthen  Sidney  all  he  could, 
not  to  work  him  too  hard,  and  to  bring  him  back  in 
a  year's  time. 

Horace  paid  the  money,  Greatorex  emitted  a  final 
"  hum,"  and  then  the  stepbrothers  were  whisked  out 
by  an  expeditious  footman.  The  experience  cost 
Horace  over  four  pounds  and  the  loss  of  a  day's 
time.  And  the  worst  was  that  Sidney  had  a  violent 
attack  that  very  night. 

School  being  impossible  for  him,  Sidney  had  inter- 
mittent instruction  from  professors  of  both  sexes  at 
home.  But  he  learnt  practically  nothing  except  the 
banjo.  Horace  had  to  buy  him  a  banjo:  it  cost  the 
best  part  of  a  ten-pound  note;  still,  Horace  could  do 
no  less.  Sidney's  stature  grew  rapidly;  his  general 
health  certainly  improved,  yet  not  completely;  he 
always  had  a  fragile,  interesting  air.  Moreover,  his 
deafness  did  not  disappear:  there  were  occasions 
when  it  was  extremely  pronounced.  And  he  was 
never  quite  safe  from  those  attacks  in  the  head.  He 
spent  a  month  or  six  weeks  each  year  in  the  expen- 
sive bracing  atmosphere  of  some  seaside  resort,  and 
altogether  he  was  decidedly  a  heavy  drain  on 
Horace's  resources.  People  were  aware  of  this,  and 
they  said  that  Horace  ought  to  be  happy  that  he  was 
in  a  position  to  spend  money  freely  on  his  poor 
brother.  Had  not  the  doctor  predicted,  before  the 
catastrophe  due  to  Horace's  culpable  negligence,  that 
Sidney  would  grow  into  a  strong  man,  and  that  his 
deafness  would  leave  him?  The  truth  was,  one 


250     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

never  knew  the  end  of  those  accidents  in  infancy ! 
Further,  was  not  Sidney's  sad  condition  slowly  kill- 
ing his  mother?  It  was  whispered  about  that,  since 
the  disaster,  Sidney  had  not  been  quite  sound  men- 
tally. Was  not  the  mere  suspicion  of  this  enough  to 
kill  any  mother  ? 

And,  as  a  fact,  Mrs.  Carpole  did  die.  She  died 
of  quinsy,  doubtless  aggravated  by  Sidney's  sad  con- 
dition. 

Not  long  afterwards  Horace  came  into  a  small 
fortune  from  his  maternal  grandfather.  But  poor 
Sidney  did  not  come  into  any  fortune,  and  people 
somehow  illogically  inferred  that  Horace  had  not 
behaved  quite  nicely  in  coming  into  a  fortune  while 
his  suffering  invalid  brother,  whom  he  had  so  deeply 
harmed,  came  into  nothing.  Even  Horace  had  com- 
punctions due  to  the  visitations  of  a  similar  idea. 
And  with  part  of  the  fortune  he  bought  a  house  with 
a  large  garden  up  at  Toft  End,  the  highest  hill  of 
the  hilly  Five  Towns,  so  that  Sidney  might  have  the 
benefit  of  the  air.  He  also  engaged  a  housekeeper 
and  servants.  With  the  remainder  of  the  fortune 
he  obtained  a  partnership  in  the  firm  of  earthenware 
manufacturers  for  whom  he  had  been  acting  as 
highly-paid  manager. 

Sidney  reached  the  age  of  eighteen,  and  was  most 
effective  to  look  upon,  his  bright  hair  being  still 
curly,  and  his  eyes  a  wondrous  blue,  and  his  form 
elegant;  and  the  question  of  Sidney's  future  arose. 
His  health  was  steadily  on  the  up  grade.  The  deaf- 
ness had  quite  disappeared.  He  had  inclinations 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  251 

towards  art,  and  had  already  amused  himself  by 
painting  some  beautiful  vases.  So  it  was  settled  that 
he  should  enter  Horace's  works  on  the  art  side, 
with  a  view  to  becoming,  ultimately,  art  director. 
Horace  gave  him  three  pounds  a  week,  in  order  that 
he  might  feel  perfectly  independent,  and,  to  the  same 
end,  Sidney  paid  Horace  seven-and-sixpence  a  week 
for  board  and  lodging.  But  the  change  of  life  upset 
the  youth's  health  again.  After  only  two  visits  to 
the  works  he  had  a  grave  recurrence  of  the  head- 
attacks,  and  he  was  solemnly  exhorted  not  to  apply 
himself  too  closely  to  business.  He  therefore  took 
several  half-holidays  a  week,  and  sometimes  a  whole 
one.  And  even  when  he  put  in  one  of  his  full  days 
he  would  arrive  at  the  works  three  hours  after 
Horace,  and  restore  the  balance  by  leaving  an  hour 
earlier.  The  entire  town  watched  over  him  as  a 
mother  watches  over  a  son.  The  notion  that  he  was 
not  quite  right  in  the  pate  gradually  died  away,  and 
everybody  was  thankful  for  that,  though  it  was 
feared  an  untimely  grave  might  be  his  portion. 

Ill 

She  was  a  nice  girl;  the  nicest  girl  that  Horace 
had  ever  met  with,  because  her  charming  niceness  in- 
cluded a  faculty  of  being  really  serious  about  serious 
things  —  and  yet  she  could  be  deliciously  gay.  In 
short,  she  was  a  revelation  to  Horace.  And  her 
name  was  Ella,  and  she  had  come  one  year  to  spend 
some  weeks  with  Mrs.  Penkethman,  the  widowed 
head-mistress  of  the  Wesleyan  Day  School,  who  was 


252    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

her  cousin.  Mrs.  Penkethman  and  Ella  had  been 
holidaying  together  in  France;  their  arrival  in  Burs- 
ley  naturally  coincided  with  the  reopening  of  the 
school  in  August  for  the  autumn  term. 

Now  at  this  period  Horace  was  rather  lonely  in 
his  large  house  and  garden;  for  Sidney,  in  pursuit  of 
health,  had  gone  off  on  a  six  weeks'  cruise  round 
Holland,  Finland,  Norway  and  Sweden,  in  one  of 
those  Atlantic  liners  which,  translated  like  Enoch 
without  dying,  become  in  their  old  age  "  steam- 
yachts,"  with  fine  names  apt  to  lead  to  confusion  with 
the  private  yacht  of  the  Tsar  of  Russia.  Horace 
had  offered  him  the  trip,  and  Horace  was  also  pay- 
ing his  weekly  salary  as  usual. 

So  Horace,  who  had  always  been  friendly  with 
Mrs.  Penkethman,  grew  now  more  than  ever  friendly 
with  Mrs.  Penkethman.  And  Mrs.  Penkethman  and 
Ella  were  inseparable.  The  few  aristocrats  left  in 
Bursley  in  September  remarked  that  Horace  knew 
what  he  was  about,  as  it  was  notorious  that  Ella  had 
the  most  solid  expectations.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact 
Horace  did  not  know  what  he  was  about,  and  he 
never  once  thought  of  Ella's  expectations.  He  was 
simply,  as  they  say  in  Bursley,  knocked  silly  by  Ella. 
He  honestly  imagined  her  to  be  the  wonderfullest 
woman  on  the  earth's  surface,  with  her  dark  eyes  and 
her  expressive  sympathetic  gestures,  and  her  alterna- 
tions of  seriousness  and  gaiety.  It  astounded  him 
that  a  girl  of  twenty-one  could  have  thought  so 
deeply  upon  life  as  she  had.  The  inexplicable  thing 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  253 

was  that  she  looked  up  to  him.  She  evidently 
admired  him.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  that  she  was 
quite  wrong  about  him,  much  too  kind  in  her 
estimate  of  him  —  that  really  he  was  a  very  ordinary 
man  indeed.  But  another  instinct  prevented  him 
from  thus  undeceiving  her. 

And  one  Sunday  afternoon,  the  season  being  late 
September,  Horace  actually  got  those  two  women  up 
to  tea  in  his  house  and  garden.  He  had  not  dared  to 
dream  of  such  bliss.  He  had  hesitated  long  before 
asking  them  to  come,  and  in  asking  them  he  had 
blushed  and  stammered:  the  invitation  had  seemed 
to  him  to  savour  of  audacity.  But,  bless  you!  they 
had  accepted  with  apparent  ecstasy.  They  gave  him 
to  think  that  they  had  genuinely  wanted  to  come. 
And  they  came  extra-specially  dressed  —  visions,  lilies 
of  the  field.  And  as  the  day  was  quite  warm,  tea 
was  served  in  the  garden,  and  everybody  admired  the 
view;  and  there  was  no  restraint,  no  awkwardness. 
In  particular  Ella  talked  with  an  ease  and  a 
distinction  that  enchanted  Horace,  and  almost  made 
him  talk  with  ease  and  distinction  too.  He  said  to 
himself  that,  seeing  he  had  only  known  her  a  month, 
he  was  getting  on  amazingly.  He  said  to  himself 
that  his  good  luck  passed  belief. 

Then  there  was  a  sound  of  cab-wheels  on  the  other 
side  of  the  garden-wall,  and  presently  Horace  heard 
the  housekeeper  complimenting  Sidney  on  his  good 
looks,  and  Sidney  asking  the  housekeeper  to  lend  him 
three  shillings  to  pay  the  cabman.  The  golden  youth 


254    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

had  returned  without  the  slightest  warning  from  his 
cruise.  The  tea  trio,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  garden, 
saw  him  standing  in  the  porch,  tanned,  curly,  grace- 
ful, and  young.  Horace  half  rose,  and  then  sat 
down  again.  Ella  stared  hard. 

"  That  must  be  your  brother,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  that's  Sid,"  Horace  answered;  and  then, 
calling  out  loudly:  "  Come  down  here,  Sid,  and  tell 
them  to  bring  another  cup  and  saucer." 

"  Right  you  are,  old  man,"  Sidney  shouted. 
"  You  see  I'm  back.  What !  Mrs.  Penkethman,  is 
that  you?  "  He  came  down  the  central  path  of  the 
garden  like  a  Narcissus. 

"  He  does  look  delicate,"  said  Ella  under  her 
breath  to  Horace.  Tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

Naturally  Ella  knew  all  about  Sidney.  She 
enjoyed  the  entire  confidence  of  Mrs.  Penkethman, 
and  what  Mrs.  Penkethman  didn't  know  of  the  pri- 
vate history  of  the  upper  classes  in  Bursley  did  not 
amount  to  very  much. 

These  were  nearly  the  last  words  that  Ella  spoke 
to  Horace  that  afternoon.  The  introduction  was 
made,  and  Sidney  slipped  into  the  party  as  com- 
fortably as  he  slipped  into  everything,  like  a  candle 
slipping  into  a  socket.  But  nevertheless  Ella  talked 
no  more.  She  just  stared  at  Sidney,  and  listened  to 
him.  Horace  was  proud  that  Sidney  made  such  an 
impression  on  her;  he  was  glad  that  she  showed  no 
aversion  to  Sidney,  because,  in  the  event  of  Horace's 
marriage,  where  would  Sidney  live,  if  not  with  Hor- 
ace and  Horace's  wife?  Still,  he  could  have  wished 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  255 

that  Ella  would  continue  to  display  her  conversa- 
tional powers. 

Presently,  Sidney  lighted  a  cigarette.  He  was 
of  those  young  men  whose  delicate  mouths  seem  to 
have  been  fashioned  for  the  nice  conduct  of  a  ciga- 
rette. And  he  had  a  way  of  blowing  out  the  smoke 
that  secretly  ravished  every  feminine  beholder. 
Horace  still  held  to  his  boyhood's  principles;  but 
he  envied  Sidney  a  little. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  festivity  these  two  women 
naturally  could  not  be  permitted  to  walk  home  alone. 
And,  naturally,  also,  the  four  could  not  walk  abreast 
on  the  narrow  pavements.  Horace  went  first  with 
Mrs.  Penkethman.  He  was  mad  with  anxiety  to 
appropriate  Ella,  but  he  dared  not.  It  would  not 
have  been  quite  correct;  it  would  have  been,  as  they 
say  in  Bursley,  too  thick.  Besides,  there  was  the 
question  of  age.  Horace  was  over  thirty,  and  Mrs. 
Penkethman  was  also  —  over  thirty;  whereas  Sidney 
was  twenty-one,  and  so  was  Ella.  Hence  Sidney 
walked  behind  with  Ella,  and  the  procession  started 
in  silence.  Horace  did  not  look  round  too  often  — 
that  would  not  have  been  quite  proper  —  but  when- 
ever he  did  look  round  the  other  couple  had  lagged 
farther  and  farther  behind,  and  Ella  seemed  per- 
fectly to  have  recovered  her  speech.  At  length  he 
looked  round,  and  lo!  they  had  not  turned  the  last 
corner;  and  they  arrived  at  Mrs.  Penkethman's  cot- 
tage at  Hillport  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  their 
elders. 


256     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

IV 

The  wedding  cost  Horace  a  large  sum  of  money. 
You  see,  he  could  not  do  less  than  behave  hand- 
somely by  the  bride,  owing  to  his  notorious  admira- 
tion for  her;  and  of  course  the  bridegroom  needed 
setting  up.  Horace  practically  furnished  their  home 
for  them  out  of  his  own  pocket;  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  Sidney  should  have  resources.  Fur- 
ther, Sidney  as  a  single  man,  paying  seven-and- 
six  a  week  for  board  and  lodging,  could  no  doubt 
struggle  along  upon  three  pounds  weekly.  But 
Sidney  as  a  husband,  with  the  nicest  girl  in  the  world 
to  take  care  of,  and  house-rent  to  pay,  could  not 
possibly  perform  the  same  feat.  Although  he  did 
no  more  work  at  the  manufactory  —  Horace  could 
not  have  been  so  unbrotherly  as  to  demand  it  — 
Horace  paid  him  eight  pounds  a  week  instead  of 
three. 

And  the  affair  cost  Horace  a  good  deal  besides 
money.  But  what  could  Horace  do  ?  He  decidedly 
would  not  have  wished  to  wreck  the  happiness  of 
two  young  and  beautiful  lives,  even  had  he  possessed 
the  power  to  do  so.  And  he  did  not  possess  the 
power.  These  two  did  not  consult  Horace  before 
falling  in  love.  They  merely  fell  in  love,  and  there 
was  end  of  it  —  and  an  end  of  Horace  too !  Horace 
had  to  suffer.  He  did  suffer. 

Perhaps  it  was  for  his  highest  welfare  that  other 
matters  came  to  monopolise  his  mind.  One  sorrow 
drives  out  another.  If  you  sit  on  a  pin  you  are  apt 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  257 

to  forget  that  you  have  the  toothache.  The  earthen- 
ware manufactory  was  not  going  well.  Plenty  of 
business  was  being  done,  but  not  at  the  right  prices. 
Crushed  between  the  upper  and  nether  millstones  of 
the  McKinley  Tariff  and  German  competition, 
Horace,  in  company  with  other  manufacturers,  was 
breathing  out  his  life's  blood  in  the  shape  of  capital. 
The  truth  was  that  he  had  never  had  enough  capital. 
He  had  heavily  mortgaged  the  house  at  Toft  End  in 
order  to  purchase  his  partners'  shares  in  the  business 
and  have  the  whole  undertaking  to  himself,  and  he 
profoundly  regretted  it.  He  needed  every  penny 
that  he  could  collect;  the  strictest  economy  was 
necessary  if  he  meant  to  survive  the  struggle.  And 
here  he  was  paying  eight  pounds  a  week  to  a  per- 
sonage purely  ornamental,  after  having  squandered 
hundreds  in  rendering  that  personage  comfortable! 
The  situation  was  dreadful. 

You  may  ask,  Why  did  he  not  explain  the  situa- 
tion to  Sidney?  Well,  partly  because  he  was  too 
kind,  and  partly  because  he  was  too  proud,  and  partly 
because  Sidney  would  not  have  understood.  Horace 
fought  on,  keeping  up  a  position  in  the  town  and 
hoping  that  miracles  would  occur. 

Then  Ella's  expectations  were  realised.  Sidney 
and  she  had  some  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  play 
with.  And  they  played  the  most  agreeable  games. 
But  not  in  Bursley.  No.  They  left  Horace  in 
Bursley  and  went  to  Llandudno  for  a  spell.  Hor- 
ace envied  them,  but  he  saw  them  off  at  the  station 
as  an  elder  brother  should,  and  tipped  the  porters. 


258     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Certainly  he  was  relieved  of  the  formality  of  pay- 
ing eight  pounds  a  week  to  his  brother.  But  this 
did  not  help  him  much.  The  sad  fact  was  that 
"  things  "  (by  which  is  meant  fate,  circumstances, 
credit,  and  so  on)  had  gone  too  far.  It  was  no 
longer  a  question  of  eight  pounds  a  week;  it  was  a 
question  of  final  ruin. 

Surely  he  might  have  borrowed  money  from  Sid- 
ney? Sidney  had  no  money;  the  money  was  Ella's, 
and  Horace  could  not  have  brought  himself  to  bor- 
row money  from  a  woman  —  from  Ella,  from  a 
heavenly  creature  who  always  had  a  soothing  sym- 
pathetic word  for  him.  That  would  have  been  to 
take  advantage  of  Ella.  No,  if  you  suggest  such  a 
thing  you  do  not  know  Horace. 

I  stated  in  the  beginning  that  he  had  no  faults. 
He  was  therefore  absolutely  honest.  And  he  called 
his  creditors  together  while  he  could  yet  pay  them 
twenty  shillings  in  the  pound.  It  was  a  noble  act, 
rare  enough  in  the  Five  Towns  and  in  other  parts  of 
England.  But  he  received  no  praise  for  It.  He  had 
only  done  what  every  man  in  his  position  ought  to 
do.  If  Horace  had  failed  for  ten  times  the  sum 
that  his  debts  actually  did  amount  to,  and  then  paid 
two  shillings  in  the  pound  instead  of  twenty,  he 
would  have  made  a  stir  in  the  world  and  been  looked 
up  to  as  no  ordinary  man  of  business. 

Having  settled  his  affairs  in  this  humdrum,  idiotic 
manner,  Horace  took  a  third-class  return  to  Llan- 
dudno.  Sidney  and  Ella  were  staying  at  the  hydro 
with  the  strange  Welsh  name,  and  he  found  Sidney 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  259 

lolling  on  the  sunshiny  beach  in  front  of  the  hydro 
discoursing  on  the  banjo  to  himself.  When  asked 
where  his  wife  was,  Sidney  replied  that  she  was  lying 
down,  and  was  obliged  to  rest  as  much  as  possible. 

Horace,  ashamed  to  trouble  this  domestic  idyl, 
related  his  misfortunes  as  airily  as  he  could. 

And  Sidney  said  he  was  awfully  sorry,  and  had  no 
notion  how  matters  stood,  and  could  he  do  anything 
for  Horace?  If  so,  Horace  might 

"  No,"  said  Horace,  "  I'm  all  right.  I've  very 
fortunately  got  an  excellent  place  as  manager  in  a 
big  new  manufactory  in  Germany."  (This  is  how 
we  deal  with  German  competition  in  the  Five 
Towns.) 

"  Germany?  "  cried  Sidney. 

"  Yes,"  said  Horace;  "  and  I  start  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"  Well,"  said  Sidney,  "  at  any  rate  you'll  stay  the 
night." 

'  Thanks,"  said  Horace,  "  you're  very  kind.  I 
will." 

So  they  went  into  the  hydro  together,  Sidney 
caressing  his  wonderful  new  pearl-inlaid  banjo;  and 
Horace  talked  in  low  tones  to  Ella  as  she  lay  on  the 
sofa.  He  convinced  Ella  that  his  departure  to  Ger- 
many was  the  one  thing  he  had  desired  all  his  life, 
because  it  was  not  good  that  Ella  should  be  startled, 
shocked  or  grieved. 

They  dined  well. 

But  in  the  night  Sidney  had  a  recurrence  of  his 
old  illness  —  a  bad  attack;  and  Horace  sat  up 


260    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

through  dark  hours,  fetched  the  doctor,  and  bought 
things  at  the  chemist's.  Towards  morning  Sidney 
was  better.  And  Horace,  standing  near  the  bed, 
gazed  at  his  stepbrother  and  tried  in  his  stupid  way 
to  read  the  secrets  beneath  that  curly  hair.  But  he 
had  no  success.  He  caught  himself  calculating  how 
much  Sidney  had  cost  him,  at  periods  of  his  career 
when  he  could  ill  spare  money;  and,  having  caught 
himself,  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  such  baseness. 
At  eight  o'clock  he  ventured  to  knock  at  Ella's  door 
and  explain  to  her  that  Sidney  had  not  been  quite 
well.  She  had  passed  a  peaceful  night,  for  he  had, 
of  course,  refrained  from  disturbing  her. 

He  was  not  quite  sure  whether  Sidney  had  meant 
him  to  stay  at  the  hydro  as  his  guest,  so  he  demanded 
a  bill,  paid  it,  said  good-bye,  and  left  for  Bonn-on- 
the-Rhine.  He  was  very  exhausted  and  sleepy. 
Happily  the  third-class  carriages  on  the  London  & 
North-Western  are  pretty  comfortable.  Between 
Chester  and  Crewe  he  had  quite  a  doze,  and  dreamed 
that  he  had  married  Ella  after  all,  and  that  her 
twenty  thousand  pounds  had  put  the  earthenware 
business  on  a  footing  of  magnificent  and  splendid  se- 
curity. 


A  few  months  later  Horace's  house  and  garden  at 
Toft  End  were  put  up  to  auction  by  arrangement 
with  his  mortgagee  and  his  trade-creditors.  And 
Sidney  was  struck  with  the  idea  of  buying  the  place. 
The  impression  was  that  it  would  go  cheap.  Sidney 


THE  LION'S  SHARE  261 

said  it  would  be  a  pity  to  let  the  abode  pass  out  of  the 
family.  Ella  said  that  the  idea  of  buying  it  was  a 
charming  one,  because  in  the  garden  it  was  that  she 
had  first  met  her  Sidney.  So  the  place  was  duly 
bought,  and  Sidney  and  Ella  went  to  live  there. 

Several  years  elapsed. 

Then  one  day  little  Horace  was  informed  that  his 
uncle  Horace,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  was  coming 
to  the  house  on  a  visit,  and  that  he  must  be  a  good 
boy,  and  polite  to  his  uncle,  and  all  the  usual  sort  of 
thing. 

And  in  effect  Horace  the  elder  did  arrive  in  the 
afternoon.  He  found  no  one  to  meet  him  at  the 
station,  or  at  the  garden  gate  of  the  pleasaunce  that 
had  once  been  his,  or  even  at  the  front  door.  A  pert 
parlour-maid  told  him  that  her  master  and  mistress 
were  up-stairs  in  the  nursery,  and  that  he  was  re- 
quested to  go  up.  And  he  went  up,  and  to  be  sure 
Sidney  met  him  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  banjo  in  hand, 
cigarette  in  mouth,  smiling,  easy  and  elegant  as  usual 
—  not  a  trace  of  physical  weakness  in  his  face  or 
form.  And  Horace  was  jocularly  ushered  into  the 
nursery  and  introduced  to  his  nephew.  Ella  had 
changed.  She  was  no  longer  slim,  and  no  longer 
gay  and  serious  by  turns.  She  narrowly  missed  be- 
ing stout,  and  she  was  continuously  gay,  like  Sidney. 
The  child  was  also  gay.  Everybody  was  glad  to  see 
Horace,  but  nobody  seemed  deeply  interested  in  Hor- 
ace's affairs.  As  a  fact  he  had  done  rather  well  in 
Germany,  and  had  now  come  back  to  England  in 
order  to  assume  a  working  partnership  in  a  small  pot- 


262     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

ting  concern  at  Hanbridge.  He  was  virtually  begin- 
ning life  afresh.  But  what  concerned  Sidney  and 
Ella  was  themselves  and  their  offspring.  They 
talked  incessantly  about  the  infinitesimal  details  of 
their  daily  existence,  and  the  alterations  which  they 
had  made,  or  meant  to  make,  in  the  house  and  garden. 
And  occasionally  Sidney  thrummed  a  tune  on  the 
banjo  to  amuse  the  infant.  Horace  had  expected 
them  to  be  curious  about  Germany  and  his  life  in  Ger- 
many. But  not  a  bit!  He  might  have  come  in 
from  the  next  street  and  left  them  only  yesterday, 
for  all  the  curiosity  they  exhibited. 

"  Shall  we  go  down  to  the  drawing-room  and  have 
tea,  eh?"  said  Ella. 

"  Yes,  let's  go  and  kill  the  fatted  calf,"  said  Sid- 
ney. 

And  strangely  enough,  inexplicably  enough,  Hor- 
ace did  feel  like  a  prodigal. 

Sidney  went  off  with  the  precious  banjo,  and  Ella 
picked  up  sundry  belongings  without  which  she  never 
travelled  about  the  house. 

"You  carry  me  down-stairs,  unky?"  the  little 
nephew  suggested,  with  an  appealing  glance  at  his 
new  uncle. 

"  No,"  said  Horace,  "  I'm  dashed  if  I  do!  " 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS 


JOHN  and  Robert  Hessian,  brothers,  bachelors, 
and  dressed  in  mourning,  sat  together  after  sup- 
per in  the  parlour  of  their  house  at  the  bottom 
of  Oldcastle  Street,  Bursley.  Maggie,  the  middle- 
aged  servant,  was  clearing  the  table. 

"  Leave  the  cloth  and  the  coffee,"  said  John,  the 
elder,  "  Mr.  Liversage  is  coming  in." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  John,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Slate,  Maggie,"  Robert  ordered  laconically,  with 
a  gesture  towards  the  mantelpiece  behind  him. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Robert,"  said  Maggie. 

She  gave  him  a  slate  with  slate-pencil  attached, 
which  hung  on  a  nail  near  the  mantelpiece. 

Robert  took  the  slate  and  wrote  on  it :  "  What  is 
Liversage  coming  about?  " 

And  he  pushed  the  slate  across  the  table  to  John. 

Whereupon  John  wrote  on  the  slate :  "  Don't 
know.  He  telephoned  me  he  wanted  to  see  us  to- 
night." 

And  he  pushed  back  the  slate  to  Robert. 

This  singular  procedure  was  not  in  the  least  at- 
tributable to  deafness  on  the  part  of  the  brothers; 
they  were  in  the  prime  of  life,  aged  forty-two  and 

263 


264 

thirty-nine  respectively,  and  in  complete  possession 
of  all  their  faculties.  It  was  due  simply  to  the  fact 
that  they  had  quarrelled,  and  would  not  speak  to 
each  other.  The  history  of  their  quarrel  would  be 
incredible  were  it  not  full  of  that  ridiculous  pathetic 
quality  known  as  human  nature,  and  did  not  similar 
things  happen  frequently  in  the  manufacturing  Mid- 
lands, where  the  general  temperament  is  a  fearful 
and  strange  compound  of  pride,  obstinacy,  uncon- 
querableness,  romance,  and  stupidity.  Yes,  stu- 
pidity. 

No  single  word  had  passed  between  the  brothers  in 
that  house  for  ten  years.  On  the  morning  after  the 
historical  quarrel  Robert  had  not  replied  when  John 
spoke  to  him.  "Well,"  said  John's  secret  heart  — 
and  John's  secret  heart  ought  to  have  known  better, 
as  it  was  older  than  its  brother  heart  —  "  I'll  teach 
him  a  lesson.  I  won't  speak  until  he  does."  And 
Robert's  secret  heart  had  somehow  divined  this  idi- 
otic resolution,  and  had  said:  ''We  shall  see." 
Maggie  had  been  the  first  to  notice  the  stubborn  si- 
lence. Then  their  friends  noticed  it,  especially  Mr. 
Liversage,  the  solicitor,  their  most  intimate  friend. 
But  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  anybody  protested 
very  strongly.  For  John  and  Robert  were  not  the 
kind  of  men  with  whom  liberties  may  be  taken;  and, 
moreover,  Bursley  was  slightly  amused  —  at  the  be- 
ginning. It  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  disinterested 
spectator  at  a  fight.  It  wondered  who  would  win. 
Of  course,  it  called  both  the  brothers  fools,  yet  in  a 
tone  somewhat  sympathetic,  because  such  a  thing  as 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  265 

had  occurred  to  the  Hessians  might  well  occur  to  any 
man  gifted  with  the  true  Bursley  spirit.  There  is 
this  to  be  said  for  a  Bursley  man:  Having  made 
his  bed,  he  will  lie  on  it,  and  he  will  not  complain. 
The  Hessians  suffered  severely  by  their  self-im- 
posed dumbness,  but  they  suffered  like  Stoics.  Mag- 
gie also  suffered,  and  Maggie  would  not  stand  it. 
Maggie  it  was  who  had  invented  the  slate.  Indeed, 
they  had  heard  some  plain  truths  from  that  stout, 
bustling  woman.  They  had  not  yielded,  but  they 
had  accepted  the  slate  in  order  to  minimise  the  in- 
convenience to  Maggie,  and  afterwards  they  deigned 
to  make  use  of  it  for  their  own  purposes.  As  for 
friends  —  friends  accustomed  themselves  to  the 
status  quo.  There  came  a  time  when  the  spectacle 
of  two  men  chattering  to  everybody  else  in  a  com- 
pany, and  not  saying  a  word  to  each  other,  no  longer 
appealed  to  Bursley's  sense  of  humour.  The  silent 
scenes  at  which  Maggie  assisted  every  day  did  not, 
either,  appeal  to  Maggie's  sense  of  humour,  because 
she  had  none.  So  the  famous  feud  grew  into  a  sort 
of  elemental  fact  of  Nature.  It  was  tolerated  as  the 
weather  is  tolerated.  The  brothers  acquired  pride  in 
it;  even  Bursley  regarded  it  as  an  interesting  munici- 
pal curiosity.  The  sole  imperfection  in  a  lovely 
and  otherwise  perfect  quarrel  was  that  John  and  Rob- 
ert, being  both  employed  at  Roycroft's  Majolica 
Manufactory,  the  one  as  works  manager  and  the 
other  as  commercial  traveller,  were  obliged  to  speak 
to  each  other  occasionally  in  the  way  of  business. 
Artistically,  this  was  a  pity,  though  they  did  speak 


266     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

very  sternly  and  distantly.  The  partial  truce  neces- 
sitated by  Roycroft's  was  confined  strictly  to  Roy- 
croft's.  And  when  Robert  was  not  on  his  journeys, 
these  two  tall,  strong,  dark,  bearded  men  might  often 
be  seen  of  a  night  walking  separately  and  doggedly 
down  Oldcastle  Street  from  the  works,  within  five 
yards  of  each  other. 

And  no  one  suggested  the  lunatic  asylum.  Such 
is  the  force  of  pride,  of  rank  stupidity,  and  of 
habit. 

The  slate-scratching  was  scarcely  over  that  evening 
when  Mr.  Powell  Liversage  appeared.  He  was 
a  golden-haired  man,  with  a  jolly  face,  lighter  and 
shorter  in  structure  than  the  two  brothers.  His 
friendship  with  them  dated  from  school-days,  and  it 
had  survived  even  the  entrance  of  Liversage  into  a 
learned  profession.  Liversage,  who,  being  a  bachelor 
like  the  Hessians,  had  many  unoccupied  evenings, 
came  to  see  the  brothers  regularly  every  Saturday 
night,  and  one  or  other  of  them  dropped  in  upon  him 
most  Wednesdays;  but  this  particular  night  was  a 
Thursday. 

"  How  do?  "  John  greeted  him  succinctly  between 
two  puffs  of  a  pipe. 

"  How  do?  "  replied  Liversage. 

"How  do,  Pow?"  Robert  greeted  him  in.  turn, 
also  between  two  puffs  of  a  pipe. 

And  "  How  do,  little  'un?  "  replied  Liversage. 

A  chair  was  indicated  to  him,  and  he  sat  down, 
and  Robert  poured  out  some  coffee  into  a  third  cup 
which  Maggie  had  brought.  John  pushed  away  the 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  267 

extra  special  of  the  Stafordshire  Signal,  which  he 
had  been  reading. 

"  What's  up  these  days?  "  John  demanded. 

"  Well,"  said  Liversage,  and  both  brothers  no- 
ticed that  he  was  rather  ill  at  ease,  instead  of  being 
humorous  and  lightly  caustic  as  usual,  "  the  will's 
turned  up." 

"  The  devil  it  has !  "  John  exclaimed.     "  When  ?  " 

"  This  afternoon." 

And  then,  as  there  was  a  pause,  Liversage  added : 
"  Yes,  my  sons,  the  will's  turned  up." 

"  But  where,  you  cuckoo,  sitting  there  like  that?  " 
asked  Robert.  "Where?" 

"  It  was  in  that  registered  letter  addressed  to  your 
sister  that  the  Post  Office  people  wouldn't  hand  over 
until  we'd  taken  out  letters  of  administration." 

"  Well,  I'm  dashed!  "  muttered  John.  "  Who'd 
have  thought  of  that?  You've  got  the  will, 
then?" 

Liversage  nodded. 

The  Hessians  had  an  elder  sister,  Mrs.  Bott,  widow 
of  a  colour  merchant,  and  Mrs.  Bott  had  died  sud- 
denly three  months  ago,  the  night  after  a  journey  to 
Manchester.  (Even  at  the  funeral  the  brothers 
had  scandalised  the  town  by  not  speaking  to  each 
other.)  Mrs.  Bott  had  wealth,  wit,  and  wisdom, 
together  with  certain  peculiarities,  of  which  one  was 
an  excessive  secrecy.  It  was  known  that  she  had 
made  a  will,  because  she  had  more  than  once  notified 
the  fact,  in  a  tone  suggestive  of  highly  important  is- 
sues, but  the  will  had  refused  to  be  found.  So  Mr. 


268     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Liversage  had  been  instructed  to  take  out  letters  of 
administration  of  the  estate,  which,  in  the  continued 
absence  of  the  will,  would  be  divided  equally  between 
the  brothers.  And  twelve  or  thirteen  thousand 
pounds  may  be  compared  to  a  financial  beef-steak 
that  cuts  up  very  handsomely  for  two  persons.  The 
carving-knife  was  about  to  descend  on  its  succulence, 
when,  lo  1  the  will ! 

"How  came  the  will  to  be  in  the  post?"  asked 
Robert. 

"  The  handwriting  -on  the  envelope  was  your  sis- 
ter's," said  Liversage.  "  And  the  package  was 
posted  in  Manchester.  Very  probably  she  had  taken 
the  will  to  Manchester  to  show  it  to  a  lawyer  or 
something  of  that  sort,  and  then  she  was  afraid  of 
losing  it  on  the  journey  back,  and  so  she  sent  it  to 
herself  by  registered  post.  But  before  it  arrived,  of 
course,  she  was  dead." 

"  That  wasn't  a  bad  scheme  of  poor  Mary 
Ann's  I  "  John  commented. 

"It  was  just  like  herl"  said  Robert,  speaking 
pointedly  to  Liversage.  "  But  what  an  odd  thing!  " 

Now,  both  these  men  were,  no  doubt  excusably, 
agonised  by  curiosity  to  learn  the  contents  of  the 
will.  But  would  either  of  them  be  the  first  to  ex- 
press that  curiosity?  Never  in  this  world!  Not 
for  the  fortune  itself!  To  do  so  would  scarcely  have 
been  Bursleyish.  It  would  certainly  not  have  been 
Hessianlike.  So  Liversage  was  obliged  at  length  to 
say  — 

"  I  reckon  I'd  better  read  you  the  will,  eh?  " 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  269 

The  brothers  nodded. 

"  Mind  you,"  said  Liversage,  "  it's  not  my  will. 
I've  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  so  kindly  keep  your 
hair  on.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  must  have  drawn 
it  up  herself.  It's  not  drawn  properly  at  all,  but  it's 
witnessed  all  right,  and  it'll  hold  water,  just  as  well 
as  if  the  blooming  Lord  Chancellor  had  fixed  it  up 
for  her  in  person." 

He  produced  the  document  and  read,  awkwardly 
and  self-consciously  — 

"  '  This  is  my  will.  You  are  both  of  you  extremely 
foolish,  John  and  Robert,  and  I've  often  told  you  so. 
Nobody  has  ever  understood,  and  nobody  ever  will 
understand,  why  you  quarrelled  like  that  over  Annie 
Emery.  You  are  punishing  yourselves,  but  you  are 
punishing  her  as  well,  and  it  isn't  fair  her  waiting  all 
these  years.  So  I  give  all  my  estate,  no  matter  what 
it  is,  to  whichever  of  you  marries  Annie.  And  I 
hope  this  will  teach  you  a  lesson.  You  need  it  more 
than  you  need  my  money.  But  you  must  be  married 
within  a  year  of  my  death.  And  if  the  one  that 
marries  cares  to  give  five  thousand  pounds  or  so  to 
the  other,  of  course  there's  nothing  to  prevent  him. 
This  is  just  a  hint.  And  if  you  don't  either  of  you 
marry  Annie  within  a  year,  then  I  just  leave  every- 
thing I  have  to  Miss  Annie  Emery  (spinster)  sta- 
tioner and  fancy  goods  dealer,  Duck  Bank,  Bursley. 
She  deserves  something  for  her  disappointment,  and 
she  shall  have  it.  Mr.  Liversage,  solicitor,  must 
kindly  be  my  executor.  And  I  commit  my  soul  to 
God,  hoping  for  a  blessed  resurrection.  2Oth  Janu- 


270    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

ary,  1896.  Signed  Mary  Ann  Bott,  widow.'  As  I 
told  you,  the  witnessing  is  in  order,"  Liversage  fin- 
ished. 

"  Give  it  here,"  said  John  shortly,  and  scanned 
the  sheet  of  paper. 

And  Robert  actually  walked  round  the  table  and 
looked  over  his  brother's  shoulder  —  ample  proof 
that  he  was  terrifically  moved. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  a  will  like  that 
is  good  in  law?  "  exclaimed  John. 

"  Of  course  it's  good  in  law,"  Liversage  replied. 
"  Legal  phraseology  is  a  useful  thing,  and  it  often 
saves  trouble  in  the  end;  but  it  ain't  indispensable, 
you  know." 

"  Humph !  "  was  Robert's  comment  as  he  resumed 
his  seat  and  relighted  his  pipe. 

All  three  men  were  nervous.  Each  was  afraid 
to  speak,  afraid  even  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  other 
two.  An  unmajestic  silence  followed. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  off,  I  think,"  Liversage  remarked 
at  length  with  difficulty. 

He  rose. 

"  I  say,"  Robert  stopped  him.  "  Better  not  say 
anything  about  this  to  Miss  —  to  Annie,  eh?" 

"  I  will  say  nothing,"  agreed  Liversage  (infa- 
mously and  unprofessionally  concealing  the  fact  that 
he  had  already  said  something). 

And  he  departed. 

The  brothers  sat  in  fluttered  meditation  over  the 
past  and  the  future. 

Ten  years  before,  Annie  Emery  had  been  an  or- 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  271 

phan  of  twenty-three,  bravely  starting  in  business  for 
herself  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  admiring  town;  and 
John  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  courage  and  her 
sense  and  her  feminine  charm.  But  alas,  as  Ovid 
points  out,  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  woman  to  please 
only  one  man !  Robert  also  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Annie.  Each  brother  had  accused  the  other 
of  underhand  and  unbrotherly  practices  in  the  pur- 
suit of  Annie.  Each  was  profoundly  hurt  by  the  ac- 
cusations, and  each,  in  the  immense  fatuity  of  his 
pride,  had  privately  sworn  to  prove  his  innocence  by 
having  nothing  more  to  do  with  Annie.  Such  is  life ! 
Such  is  man !  Such  is  the  terrible  egoism  of  man  1 
And  thus  it  was  that,  for  the  sake  of  wounded  pride, 
John  and  Robert  not  only  did  not  speak  to  one  an- 
other for  ten  years,  but  they  spoilt  at  least  one  of 
their  lives;  and  they  behaved  ignobly  to  Annie,  who 
would  certainly  have  married  either  one  or  the  other 
of  them. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  John  pulled  a  coin 
out  of  his  pocket  and  made  the  gesture  of  tossing. 

"  Who  shall  go  first !  "  he  explained. 

Robert  had  a  queer  sensation  in  his  spine  as  his 
elder  brother  spoke  to  him  for  the  first  time  in  ten 
years.  He  wanted  to  reply  vocally.  He  had  a  most 
imperious  desire  to  reply  vocally.  But  he  could  not. 
Something  stronger  even  than  the  desire  prevented 
his  tongue  from  moving. 

John  tossed  the  coin  —  it  was  a  sovereign  —  and 
covered  it  with  his  hands. 

"Tail!"  Robert  murmured,  somewhat  hoarsely. 


272    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

But  it  was  head. 
Then  they  went  to  bed. 

II 

The  side  door  of  Miss  Emery's  shop  was  in  Brick 
Passage,  and  not  in  the  main  street,  so  that  a  man, 
even  a  man  of  commanding  stature  and  formidable 
appearance,  might  by  insinuating  himself  into  Brick 
Street,  off  King  Street,  and  then  taking  the  passage 
from  the  quieter  end,  arrive  at  it  without  attracting 
too  much  attention.  This  course  was  adopted  by 
John  Hessian.  From  the  moment  when  he  quitted 
his  own  house  that  Friday  evening  in  June  he  had 
been  subject  to  the  delusion  that  the  collective  eye  of 
Bursley  was  upon  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  col- 
lective eye  of  Bursley  is  much  too  large  and  impor- 
tant to  occupy  itself  exclusively  with  a  single  indi- 
vidual. Bursley  is  not  a  village,  and  let  no  one  think 
it.  Nevertheless,  John  was  subject  to  the  delusion. 

The  shop  was  shut,  as  he  knew  it  would  be.  But 
the  curtained  window  of  the  parlour,  between  the 
side-door  and  the  small  shuttered  side  window  of  the 
shop,  gave  a  strange  suggestion  of  interesting  virgin 
spotless  domesticity  within.  John  cast  a  fearful  eye 
on  the  main  thoroughfare.  Nobody  seemed  to  be 
passing.  The  chapel-keeper  of  the  Weskyan  Chapel 
on  the  opposite  side  of  Trafalgar  Road  was  refresh- 
ing the  massive  Corinthian  portico  of  that  fane,  and 
paying  no  regard  whatever  to  the  temple  of  Eros 
which  Miss  Emery's  shop  had  suddenly  become. 

So  John  knocked. 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  273 

"  I  am  a  fool !  "  his  thought  ran  as  he  knocked. 

Because  he  did  not  quite  know  what  he  was  about. 
He  had  won  the  toss,  and  with  it  the  right  to  ap- 
proach Annie  Emery  before  his  brother.  But  what 
then?  Well,  he  did  desire  to  marry  her,  quite  as 
much  for  herself  as  for  his  sister's  fortune.  But 
what  then?  How  was  he  going  to  explain  the  te- 
pidity, the  desertion,  the  long  sin  against  love  of  ten 
years?  In  short,  how  was  he  going  to  explain  the 
inexplicable?  He  could  decidedly  do  nothing  that 
evening  except  make  a  blundering  ass  of  himself. 
And  how  soon  would  Robert  have  the  right  to  come 
along  and  say  his  say?  That  point  had  not  been  set- 
tled. Points  so  extremely  delicate  cannot  be  settled 
on  a  slate,  and  he  had  not  dared  to  broach  it  viva 
voce  to  his  younger  brother.  He  had  been  too 
afraid  of  a  rebuff. 

He  then  hoped  that  Annie's  servant  would  tell  him 
that  Annie  was  out. 

Annie,  however,  took  him  at  a  disadvantage  by 
opening  the  door  herself. 

'  Well,  Mr.  Hessian! "  she  exclaimed,  her  face 
bursting  into  a  swift  and  welcoming  smile. 

"  I  was  just  passing,"  the  donkey  in  him  blundered 
forth.  "  And  I  thought " 

However,  in  fifteen  seconds  he  was  on  the  domestic 
side  of  the  sitting-room  window,  and  seated  in  the 
antimacassared  arm-chair  between  the  fire-place  and 
the  piano,  and  Annie  had  taken  his  hat  and  told  him 
that  her  servant  was  out  for  the  evening. 

"  But  I'm  disturbing  your  supper,  Miss  Emery," 


274    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

he  said.  Flurried  though  he  was,  he  could  not  fail  to 
notice  the  white  embroidered  cloth  spread  diagonally 
on  the  table,  and  the  cold  meat  and  the  pastry  and 
the  glittering  cutlery  and  crystal  thereon. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied.  "  You  haven't  had 
supper  yet,  I  expect?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  not  thinking. 

"  It  will  be  nice  of  you  to  help  me  cat  mine,"  said 
she. 

"Oh!     But  really " 

But  she  got  plates  and  things  out  of  the  cupboard 
below  the  bookcase  —  and  there  he  was !  She  would 
take  no  refusal.  It  was  wondrous. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  I  came  now,"  his  thought  ran. 
"  I'm  managing  it  rather  well." 

And  — 

"Poor  Bob  I" 

His  sole  discomfort  was  that  he  could  not  invent  a 
sufficiently  ingenious  explanation  of  his  call.  You 
can't  tell  a  woman  you've  called  to  make  love  to  her, 
and  when  your  previous  call  happens  to  have  been 
ten  years  ago,  some  kind  of  an  explanation  does  seem 
to  be  demanded.  Ultimately,  as  Annie  was  so  very 
pleased  to  see  him,  so  friendly,  so  feminine,  so  equal 
to  the  occasion,  he  decided  to  let  his  presence  in  her 
abode  that  night  stand  as  one  of  those  central  facts  in 
existence  that  need  no  explanation.  And  they  went 
on  talking  and  eating  till  the  dusk  deepened  and 
Annie  lit  the  gas  and  drew  the  blind. 

He  watched  her  on  the  sly  as  she  moved  about  the 
room.  He  decided  that  she  did  not  appear  a  day 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  275 

older.  There  was  the  same  plump,  erect  figure,  the 
same  neatness,  the  same  fair  skin  and  fair  hair,  the 
same  little  nose,  the  same  twinkle  in  the  eye  —  only 
perhaps  the  twinkle  in  the  eye  was  a  trifle  less  cruel 
than  it  used  to  be.  She  was  not  a  day  older.  (In 
this  he  was  of  course  utterly  mistaken;  she  was  ten 
years  older,  she  was  thirty-three,  with  ten  years  of 
successful  commercial  experience  behind  her;  she 
would  never  be  twenty-three  again.  Still  she  was  a 
most  desirable  woman,  and  a  woman  infinitely  be- 
yond his  deserts.)  Her  air  of  general  capability  im- 
pressed him.  And  with  that  there  was  mingled  a 
strange  softness,  a  marvellous  hint  of  a  concealed 
wish  to  surrender.  .  .  .  Well,  she  made  him 
feel  big  and  masculine  —  in  brief,  a  man. 

He  regretted  the  lost  ten  years.  His  present  way 
of  life  seemed  intolerable  to  him.  The  new  heaven 
opened  its  gate  and  gave  glimpses  of  paradise.  After 
all,  he  felt  himself  well  qualified  for  that  paradise. 
He  felt  that  he  had  all  along  been  a  woman's  man, 
without  knowing  it. 

"  By  Jove !  "  his  thought  ran.  "  At  this  rate  I 
might  propose  to  her  in  a  week  or  two." 

And  again  — 

44  Poor  old  Bobbie!" 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  in  some  miraculous 
manner,  they  were  more  intimate  than  they  had  ever 
been,  much  more  intimate.  He  revised  his  estimate 
of  the  time  that  must  elapse  before  he  might  propose 
to  her.  In  another  five  minutes  he  was  fighting  hard 
against  a  mad  impulse  to  propose  to  her  on  the  spot. 


276     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

And  then  the  fight  was  over,  and  he  had  lost.  He 
proposed  to  her  under  the  rose-coloured  shade  of  the 
Welsbach  light. 

She  drew  away,  as  though  shot. 

And  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  in  the  silence 
which  followed,  he  went  back  to  his  original  criticism 
of  himself,  that  he  was  a  fool.  Naturally  she  would 
request  him  to  leave.  She  would  accuse  him  of  ef- 
frontery. 

Her  lips  trembled.     He  prepared  to  rise. 

"  It's  so  sudden!  "  she  said. 

Bliss !  Glory !  Celestial  joy !  Her  words  were 
at  least  equivalent  to  an  absolution  of  his  effrontery  1 
She  would  accept !  She  would  accept !  He  jumped 
up  and  approached  her.  But  she  jumped  up  too  and 
retreated.  He  was  not  to  win  his  prize  so  easily. 

"  Please  sit  down,"  she  murmured.  "  I  must  think 
it  over,"  she  said,  apparently  mastering  herself. 
"  Shall  you  be  at  chapel  next  Sunday  morning?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  If  I  am  there,  and  if  I  am  wearing  white  roses  in 
my  hat,  it  will  mean "  She  dropped  her  eyes. 

"Yes?  "he  queried. 

And  she  nodded. 

"And  supposing  you  aren't  there?" 

"  Then  the  Sunday  after,"  she  said. 

He  thanked  her  in  his  Hessian  style. 

"  I  prefer  that  way  of  telling  you,"  she  smiled  de- 
murely. "  It  will  avoid  the  necessity  for  another  — 
so  much  —  you  understand  ?  .  .  ." 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  277 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so !  "  he  agreed.  "  I  quite  under- 
stand." 

"  And  if  I  do  see  those  roses,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
shall  take  upon  myself  to  drop  in  for  tea,  may  I  ?  " 

She  paused. 

"  In  any  case  you  mustn't  speak  to  me  coming  out 
of  chapel,  please." 

As  he  walked  home  down  Oldcastle  Street  he  said 
to  himself  that  the  age  of  miracles  was  not  past;  also 
that,  after  all,  he  was  not  so  old  as  the  tale  of  his 
years  would  mathematically  indicate. 

Ill 

Her  absence  from  chapel  on  the  next  Sunday  dis- 
agreed with  him.  However,  Robert  was  away  nearly 
all  the  week,  and  he  had  the  house  to  himself  to 
dream  in.  It  frequently  happened  to  him  to  pass 
by  Miss  Emery's  shop,  but  he  caught  no  glimpse  of 
her,  and  though  he  really  was  in  serious  need  of  writ- 
ing-paper and  envelopes,  he  dared  not  enter.  Robert 
returned  on  the  Friday. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  Sunday,  John  got 
up  early,  in  order  to  cope  with  a  new  necktie  that  he 
had  purchased  in  Hanbridge.  Nevertheless  he  found 
Robert  afoot  before  him,  and  Robert,  by  some  un- 
lucky chance,  was  wearing  not  merely  a  new  necktie, 
but  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  They  breakfasted  in  their 
usual  august  silence,  and  John  gathered  from  a  re- 
mark of  Robert's  to  Maggie  when  she  brought  in  the 
boots  that  Robert  meant  to  go  to  chapel.  Now, 


278     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Robert,  being  a  commercial  traveller  and  therefore  a 
bit  of  a  caution,  did  not  attend  chapel  with  any  re- 
markable assiduity.  And  John,  in  the  privacy  of  his 
own  mind,  blamed  him  for  having  been  so  clumsy  as 
to  choose  that  particular  morning  for  breaking  the 
habits  of  a  lifetime.  Still,  the  presence  of  Robert  in 
the  pew  could  not  prejudicially  affect  John,  and  so 
there  was  no  genuine  cause  for  gloominess. 

After  a  time  it  became  apparent  that  each  was 
waiting  for  the  other  to  go.  John  began  to  get 
annoyed.  At  last  he  made  the  plunge  and  went. 
Turning  his  head  half-way  up  Oldcastle  Street,  op- 
posite the  mansion  which  is  still  called  "  Miss  Peel's," 
he  perceived  Robert  fifty  yards  behind.  It  was  a 
glorious  June  day. 

He  blushed  as  he  entered  chapel.  If  he  was  nerv- 
ous, it  may  be  accorded  to  him  as  excuse  that  the  hap- 
piness of  his  life  depended  on  what  he  could  see 
within  the  next  few  minutes.  However,  he  felt 
pretty  sure,  though  it  was  exciting  all  the  same. 

To  reach  the  Hessian  pew  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
Miss  Emery's !  And  it  was  empty  1  Robert  arrived. 

The  organist  finished  the  voluntary.  The  leading 
tenor  of  the  choir  put  up  the  number  of  the  first 
hymn.  The  minister  ascended  the  staircase  of  the 
great  mahogany  pulpit,  and  prayed  silently,  and  ar- 
ranged his  papers  in  the  leaves  of  the  hymn-book,  and 
glanced  about  to  see  who  was  there  and  who  was  pre- 
sumably still  in  bed,  and  coughed;  and  then  Miss  An- 
nie Emery  sailed  in  with  that  air  of  false  calm  which 
is  worn  by  the  experienced  traveller  who  catches  a 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  279 

train  by  the  fifth  of  a  second.  The  service  com- 
menced. 

John  looked. 

She  was  wearing  white  roses.  There  could  be  no 
mistake  as  to  that.  There  were  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty-five  white  roses  in  the  garden  of  her  hat. 

What  a  thrill  ran  through  John's  heart !  He  had 
won  Annie,  and  he  had  won  the  fortune.  Yes,  he 
would  give  Robert  the  odd  five  thousand  pounds. 
His  state  of  mind  might  even  lead  him  to  make  it 
guineas.  He  heard  not  a  word  of  the  sermon,  and 
throughout  the  service  he  rose  up  and  sat  down  sev- 
eral instants  after  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  be- 
cause he  was  so  absent-minded. 

After  service  he  waited  for  everybody  else  to  leave, 
in  order  not  to  break  his  promise  to  the  divine  Annie. 
So  did  Robert.  This  ill-timed  rudeness  on  Rob- 
ert's part  somewhat  retarded  the  growth  of  a  young 
desire  in  John's  heart  to  make  friends  with  poor  Bob. 
Then  he  got  up  and  left,  and  Robert  followed. 

They  dined  in  silence,  John  deciding  that  he  would 
begin  his  overtures  of  friendship  after  he  had  seen 
Annie,  and  could  tell  Robert  that  he  was  formally 
engaged.  The  brothers  ate  little.  They  both  im- 
proved their  minds  during  their  repast  —  John 
with  the  Christian  Commonwealth,  and  Robert  with 
the  Saturday  cricket  edition  of  the  Signal  (I  regret 
it.) 

Then,  after  pipes,  they  both  went  out  for  a  walk, 
naturally  not  in  the  same  direction.  The  magnifi- 
cence of  the  weather  filled  them  both  with  the  joy  of 


280    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

life.  As  for  John,  he  went  out  for  a  walk  simply 
because  he  could  not  contain  himself  within  the  house. 
He  could  not  wait  immovable  till  four-thirty,  the  hour 
at  which  he  meant  to  call  on  Annie  for  tea  and  the 
betrothal  kiss.  Therefore  he  ascended  to  Hillport 
and  wandered  as  far  as  Oldcastle,  all  in  a  silk  hat  and 
frock-coat. 

It  was  precisely  half-past  four  as  he  turned,  un- 
assumingly, from  Brick  Street  into  Brick  Passage,  and 
so  approached  the  side  door  of  Annie  Emery's.  And 
his  astonishment  and  anger  were  immense  when  he 
saw  Robert,  likewise  in  silk  hat  and  frock-coat,  pene- 
trating into  Brick  Passage  from  the  other  end. 

They  met,  and  their  inflamed  spirits  collided. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  John  demanded, 
furious;  and,  simultaneously,  Robert  demanded: 
"  What  in  Hades  are  you  doing  here?  " 

Only  Sunday  and  the  fine  clothes  and  the  proximity 
to  Annie  prevented  actual  warfare. 

"  I'm  calling  on  Annie,"  said  John. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Robert. 

"  Well,  you're  too  late,"  said  John. 

"  Oh,  I'm  late,  am  I  ?  "  said  Robert,  with  a  dis- 
dainful laugh.  "Thanks!" 

"  I  tell  you  you're  too  late,"  said  John.  "  You 
may  as  well  know  at  once  that  I've  proposed  to  Annie 
and  she's  accepted  me." 

"  I  like  that!     I  like  that!  "  said  Robert. 

"  Don't  shout!  "  said  John. 

"  I'm  not  shouting,"  said  Robert.     "  But  you  may 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  281 

as  well  know  that  you're  mistaken,  my  boy.  It's  me 
that's  proposed  to  Annie  and  been  accepted.  You 
must  be  off  your  chump." 

"  When  did  you  propose  to  her?  "  said  John. 

"  On  Friday,  if  you  must  know,"  said  Robert. 

"  And  she  accepted  you  at  once?  "  said  John. 

"  No.  She  said  that  if  she  was  wearing  white  roses 
in  her  hat  this  morning  at  chapel,  that  would  mean 
she  accepted,"  said  Robert. 

"Liar!  "said  John. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  admit  she  was  wearing  white 
roses  in  her  hat?  "  said  Robert,  controlling  himself. 

"Liar!"  said  John,  and  continued  breathless: 
'  That  was  what  she  said  to  me.  She  must  have 
told  you  that  white  roses  meant  a  refusal." 

"  Oh  no,  she  didn't !  "  said  Robert,  quailing 
secretly,  but  keeping  up  a  formidable  show  of  cour- 
age. '  You're  an  old  fool!  "  he  added  vindictively. 

They  were  both  breathing  hard,  and  staring  hard 
at  each  other. 

"  Come  away,"  said  John.  "  Come  away!  We 
can't  talk  here.  She  may  look  out  of  the  window." 

So  they  went  away.  They  walked  very  quickly 
home,  and,  once  in  the  parlour,  they  began  to  have 
it  out.  And,  before  they  had  done,  the  reading  of 
cricket  news  on  Sunday  was  as  nothing  compared  to 
the  desecrating  iniquity  which  they  committed.  The 
scene  was  not  such  as  can  be  decently  recounted. 
But  about  six  o'clock  Maggie  entered,  and,  at  con- 
siderable personal  risk,  brought  them  back  to  a  sense 


282    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

of  what  was  due  to  their  name,  the  town,  and  the 
day.  She  then  stated  that  she  would  not  remain  in 
such  a  house,  and  she  departed. 


"  But  whatever  made  you  do  it,  dearest?  " 
These  words  were  addressed  to  Annie  Emery  on 
the  glorious  summer  evening  which  closed  that  glori- 
ous summer  day,  and  they  were  addressed  to  her  by 
no  other  person  than  Powell  Liversage.  The  pair 
were  in  the  garden  of  the  house  in  Trafalgar  Road 
occupied  by  Mr.  Liversage  and  his  mother,  and  they 
looked  westwards  over  the  distant  ridge  of  Hillport, 
where  the  moon  was  setting. 

"  Whatever  made  me  do  it!  "  repeated  Annie,  and 
the  twinkle  in  her  eye  had  that  charming  cruelty 
which  John  had  missed.  "  Did  they  not  deserve  it? 
Of  course,  I  can  talk  to  you  now  with  perfect  free- 
dom, can't  I?  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  It? 
Here  for  ten  years  neither  one  nor  the  other  does 
more  than  recognise  me  in  the  street,  and  then  all  of 
a  sudden  they  come  down  on  me  like  that  —  simply 
because  there's  a  question  of  money.  I  couldn't  have 
believed  men  could  be  so  stupid  —  no,  I  really 
couldn't !  They're  friends  of  yours,  Powell,  I  know, 
but  —  however,  that's  no  matter.  But  it  was  too 
ridiculously  easy  to  lead  them  on !  They'd  swallow 
any  flattery.  I  just  did  it  to  see  what  they'd  do,  and 
I  think  I  arranged  it  pretty  well.  I  quite  expected 
they  would  call  about  the  same  time,  and  then 
shouldn't  I  have  given  them  my  mind!  Unfortu- 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  283 

nately  they  met  outside,  and  got  very  hot  —  I  saw 
them  from  the  bedroom  window  —  and  went  away." 

"  You  mustn't  forget,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Liver- 
sage,  "  that  it  was  you  they  quarrelled  about.  I 
don't  want  to  defend  'em  for  a  minute,  but  it  wasn't 
altogether  the  money  that  sent  them  to  you;  it  was 
more  that  the  money  gave  them  an  excuse  for  com- 
ing!" 

"  It  was  a  very  bad  excuse,  then !  "  said  Annie. 

"  Agreed !  "  Liversage  murmured. 

The  moon  was  extremely  lovely  and  romantic 
against  the  distant  spire  of  Hillport  Church,  and  its 
effects  on  the  couple  was  just  what  might  have  been 
anticipated. 

"  Perhaps  I'm  sorry,"  Annie  admitted  at  length, 
with  a  charming  grimace. 

"  Oh  1  I  don't  think  there's  anything  to  be  sorry 
about,"  said  Liversage.  "  But  of  course  they'll 
think  I've  had  a  hand  in  it.  You  see,  I've  never 
breathed  a  word  to  them  about  —  about  my  feelings 
towards  you." 

"No?" 

"  No.  It  would  have  been  rather  a  delicate  sub- 
ject, you  see,  with  them.  And  I'm  sure  they'll  be 
staggered  when  they  know  that  we  got  engaged  last 
night.  They'll  certainly  say  I've  —  er  —  been  after 

you  for  the  No,  they  won't.  They're  decent 

chaps,  really;  very  decent." 

"  Anyhow,  you  may  be  sure,  dear,"  said  Annie 
stiffly,  "  that  /  shan't  rob  them  of  their  vile  money  I 
Nothing  would  induce  me  to  touch  itl  " 


284    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Of  course  not,  dearest  I  "  said  Liversage  —  or, 
rather  the  finer  part  of  him  said  it;  the  baser  part 
somewhat  regretted  that  vile  twelve  thousand  or  so. 
(I  must  be  truthful.) 

He  took  her  hand  again. 

At  the  same  moment  old  Mrs.  Liversage  came 
hastening  down  the  garden,  and  Liversage  dropped 
the  hand. 

"  Powell,"  she  said.  "  Here's  John  Hessian,  and 
he  wants  to  see  you !  " 

"  The  dickens  1  "  exclaimed  Liversage,  glancing  at 
Annie. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Annie.  "  I  shall  go  by  the 
fields.  Good-night,  dear  Mrs.  Liversage." 

"  Wait  ten  seconds,"  Liversage  pleaded,  "  and  I'll 
be  with  you."  And  he  ran  off. 

John,  haggard  and  undone,  was  awaiting  him  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Pow,"  said  he,  "  I've  had  a  fearful  row  with 
Bob,  and  I  can't  possibly  sleep  in  our  house  to-night. 
Don't  talk  to  me.  But  let  me  have  one  of  the  beds 
in  your  spare  room,  will  you?  There's  a  good 
chap." 

"  Why,  of  course,  Johnnie,"  said  Liversage. 
"  Of  course." 

"  And  I'll  go  right  to  bed  now,"  said  John. 

An  hour  later,  after  Powell  Liversage  had  seen 
his  affianced  to  her  abode  and  returned  home,  and 
after  his  mother  had  gone  to  bed,  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  front  door,  and  Liversage  opened  to  Robert 
Hessian. 


THE  SILENT  BROTHERS  285 

"  Look  here,  Pow,"  said  Robert,  whose  condition 
was  deplorable,  "  I  want  to  sleep  here  to-night.  Do 
you  mind?  Fact  is,  I've  had  a  devil  of  a  shindy 
with  Jack,  and  Maggie's  run  off,  and,  anyhow,  I 
couldn't  possibly  stop  in  the  same  house  with  Jack 
to-night." 

"But  what ?" 

"  See  here,"  said  Robert.  "  I  can't  talk.  Just 
let  me  have  a  bed  in  your  spare  room.  I'm  sure  your 
mother  won't  mind." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Liversage. 

He  lit  a  candle,  escorted  Robert  up-stairs,  opened 
the  door  of  the  spare  room,  gave  the  candle  to 
Robert,  pushed  him  in,  said  "  Good-night,"  and  shut 
the  door. 

What  a  night  I 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR 


WE  are  a  stolid  and  a  taciturn  race,  we  of  the 
Five  Towns.  It  may  be  because  we  are 
geographically  so  self  contained;  or 
it  may  be  because  we  work  in  clay  and  iron; 
or  it  may  merely  be  because  it  is  our  nature 
to  be  stolid  and  taciturn.  But  stolid  and  taci- 
turn we  are;  and  some  of  the  instances  of  our 
stolidity  and  our  taciturnity  are  enough  to  astound. 
They  do  not,  of  course,  astound  us  natives;  we  laugh 
at  them,  we  think  they  are  an  immense  joke,  and 
what  the  outer  world  may  think  does  not  trouble  our 
deep  conceit  of  ourselves.  I  have  often  wondered 
what  would  be  the  effect,  other  than  an  effect  of  as- 
tonishment, on  the  outer  world,  of  one  of  these  nar- 
ratives illustrating  our  Five  Towns  peculiarities  of 
deportment.  And  I  intend  for  the  first  time  in  his- 
tory to  make  such  a  narrative  public  property.  I 
have  purposely  not  chosen  an  extreme  example;  just 
an  average  example.  You  will  see  how  it  strikes 
you. 

Toby  Hall,  once  a  burgess  of  Turnhill,  the  north- 
ern-most and  smallest  of  the  Five  Towns,  was  pass- 
ing, last  New  Year's  Eve,  through  the  district  by 

286 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      287 

train  on  his  way  from  Crewe  to  Derby.  He  lived 
at  Derby,  and  he  was  returning  from  the  funeral  of 
a  brother  member  of  the  Ancient  Order  of  Foresters 
at  Crewe.  He  got  out  of  the  train  at  Knype,  the 
great  railway  centre  of  the  Five  Towns,  to  have  a 
glass  of  beer  in  the  second-class  refreshment-room. 
It  being  New  Year's  Eve,  the  traffic  was  heavy  and 
disorganised,  especially  in  the  refreshment-room,  and 
when  Toby  Hall  emerged  on  to  the  platform  again 
the  train  was  already  on  the  move.  Toby  was 
neither  young  nor  active.  His  years  were  fifty,  and 
on  account  of  the  funeral  he  wore  broadcloth  and  a 
silk  hat,  and  his  overcoat  was  new  and  encumbering. 
Impossible  to  take  a  flying  leap  into  the  train!  He 
missed  the  train.  And  then  he  reflectively  stroked 
his  short  grey  beard  (he  had  no  moustache,  and  his 
upper  lip  was  very  long),  and  then  he  smoothed 
down  his  new  overcoat  over  his  rotund  form. 

"  Young  man,"  he  asked  a  porter.  "  When's 
next  train  Derby  way?  " 

"  Ain't  none  afore  to-morrow." 

Toby  went  and  had  another  glass  of  beer. 

"  D d  if  I  don't  go  to  Turnhill,"  he  said  to 

himself  slowly  and  calmly,  as  he  paid  for  the  second 
glass  of  beer. 

He  crossed  the  station  by  the  subway  and  waited 
for  the  loop-line  train  to  Turnhill.  He  had  not  set 
foot  in  the  Five  Towns  for  three-and-twenty  years, 
having  indeed  carefully  and  continuously  avoided  it, 
as  a  man  will  avoid  the  street  where  his  creditor  lives. 
But  he  discovered  no  change  in  Knype  railway-sta- 


288     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tion.  And  he  had  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  the  fact  that 
he  knew  his  way  about  it,  knew  where  the  loop-line 
trains  started  from,  and  other  interesting  little  de- 
tails. Even  the  special  form  of  the  loop-line  time- 
table, pasted  here  and  there  on  the  walls  of  the  sta- 
tion, had  not  varied  since  his  youth.  (We  return 
Radicals  to  Parliament,  but  we  are  proud  of  a  rail- 
way which  for  fine  old  English  conservatism  brooks 
no  rival.) 

Toby  gazed  around,  half  challengingly  and  half 
nervously  —  it  was  conceivable  that  he  might  be  rec- 
ognised, or  might  recognise.  But  no!  Not  a  soul 
in  the  vast,  swaying,  preoccupied,  luggage-laden 
crowds  gave  him  a  glance.  As  for  him,  although  he 
fully  recognised  nobody,  yet  nearly  every  face  seemed 
to  be  half-familiar.  He  climbed  into  a  second-class 
compartment  when  the  train  drew  up,  and  ten  other 
people,  all  with  third-class  tickets,  followed  his  ex- 
ample; three  persons  were  already  seated  therein. 
The  compartment  was  illuminated  by  one  lamp,  and 
in  the  Bleakridge  Tunnel  this  lamp  expired.  Every- 
thing reminded  him  of  his  youth. 

In  twenty  minutes  he  was  leaving  Turnhill  station 
and  entering  the  town.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock, 
and  colder  than  winters  of  the  period  usually  are. 
The  first  thing  he  saw  was  an  electric  tram,  and  the 
second  thing  he  saw  was  another  electric  tram.  In 
Toby's  time  there  were  no  trams  at  Turnhill,  and 
the  then  recently-introduced  steam-trams  between 
Bursley  and  Longshaw,  long  since  superseded,  were 
regarded  as  the  final  marvel  of  science  as  applied  to 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      289 

traction.  And  now  there  were  electric  trams  at 
Turnhill!  The  railway  renewed  his  youth,  but  this 
darting  electricity  showed  him  how  old  he  was.  The 
Town  Hall,  which  was  brand-new  when  he  left 
Turnhill,  had  the  look  of  a  mediaeval  hotel  de  vllle 
as  he  examined  it  in  the  glamour  of  the  corporation's 
incandescent  gas.  And  it  was  no  more  the  sole  im- 
pressive pile  in  the  borough.  The  High  Street  and 
its  precincts  abounded  in  impressive  piles.  He  did 
not  know  precisely  what  they  were,  but  they  had  the 
appearance  of  being  markets,  libraries,  baths,  and 
similar  haunts  of  luxury;  one  was  a  bank.  He 
thought  that  Turnhill  High  Street  compared  very 
well  with  Derby.  He  would  have  preferred  it  to  be 
less  changed.  If  the  High  Street  was  thus  changed, 
everything  would  be  changed,  including  Child  Row. 
The  sole  phenomenon  that  recalled  his  youth  (except 
the  Town  Hall)  was  the  peculiar  smell  of  oranges 
and  apples  floating  out  on  the  frosty  air  from  holly- 
decorated  greengrocers'  shops. 

He  passed  through  the  Market  Square,  noting 
that  sinister  freak,  the  Jubilee  Tower,  and  came  to 
Child  Row.  The  first  building  on  your  right  as  you 
enter  Child  Row  from  the  square  is  the  Primitive 
Methodist  Chapel.  Yes,  it  was  still  there;  Primitive 
Methodism  had  not  failed  in  Turnhill  because  Toby 
Hall  had  deserted  the  cause  three-and-twenty  years 
ago!  But  something  serious  had  happened  to  the 
structure.  Gradually  Toby  realised  that  its  old  face 
had  been  taken  out  and  a  new  one  put  in;  the  classic 
pillars  had  vanished,  and  a  series  of  Gothic  arches 


290 

had  been  substituted  by  way  of  portico;  a  pretty  idea, 
but  not  to  Toby's  liking.  It  was  another  change, 
another  change  1  He  crossed  the  street  and  pro- 
ceeded downwards  in  the  obscurity,  and  at  length 
halted  and  peered  with  his  little  blue  eyes  at  a  small 
house  (one  of  twins)  on  the  other  side  from  where 
he  stood.  That  house,  at  any  rate,  was  unchanged. 
It  was  a  two-storeyed  house,  with  a  semicircular  fan- 
light over  a  warped  door  of  grained  panelling.  The 
blind  of  the  window  to  the  left  of  the  door  was  irra- 
diated from  within,  proving  habitation. 

"I  wonder "  ran  Toby's  thought.     And  he 

unhesitatingly  crossed  the  street  again,  towards  it, 
feeling  first  for  the  depth  of  the  kerbstone  with  his 
umbrella.  He  had  a  particular  and  special  interest 
in  that  house  (No.  n  it  was  —  and  is),  for,  four- 
and-twenty  years  ago  he  had  married  it. 

II 

Four-and-twenty  years  ago  Toby  Hall  ( I  need  not 
say  that  his  proper  Christian  name  was  Tobias)  had 
married  Miss  Priscilla  Bratt,  then  a  calm  and  self- 
reliant  young  woman  of  twenty-three,  and  Priscilla 
had  the  house,  together  with  a  certain  income,  under 
the  will  of  her  father.  The  marriage  was  not  the 
result  of  burning  passion  on  either  side.  It  was  a 
union  of  two  respectabilities,  and  it  might  have  suc- 
ceeded as  well  as  such  unions  generally  do  succeed, 
if  Priscilla  had  not  too  frequently  mentioned  the  fact 
that  the  house  they  lived  in  was  hers.  He  knew  that 
the  house  was  hers.  The  whole  world  was  perfectly 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      291 

aware  of  the  ownership  of  the  house,  and  her  refer- 
ences to  the  matter  amounted  to  a  lack  of  tact.  Sev- 
eral times  Toby  had  indicated  as  much.  But  Pris- 
cilla  took  no  heed.  She  had  the  hide  of  an  alligator 
herself  (though  a  personable  girl),  and  she  assumed 
that  her  husband's  hide  was  of  similar  stuff.  This 
assumption  was  justifiable,  except  that  in  just  one  spot 
the  skin  of  Toby  was  tender.  He  really  did  not 
care  to  be  reminded  that  he  was  living  under  his 
wife's  roof.  The  reiteration  settled  on  his  nerves 
like  a  malady.  And  before  a  year  had  elapsed  Pris- 
cilla  had  contrived  to  remind  him  once  too  often. 
And  one  day  he  put  some  things  in  a  carpet-bag,  and 
a  hat  on  his  head,  and  made  for  the  door.  The 
house  was  antique,  and  the  front-parlour  gave  directly 
on  to  the  street. 

"  Where  be  going?  "  Priscilla  asked  him. 

He  hesitated  a  second,  and  said  — 

"  'Merica." 

And  he  was.  In  the  Five  Towns  we  are  apt  to 
end  our  marriages  in  that  laconic  manner.  Toby  did 
not  complain  too  much;  he  simply  and  unaffectedly 
went.  It  might  be  imagined  that  the  situation  was 
a  trying  one  for  Priscilla.  Not  so!  Priscilla  had 
experienced  marriage  with  Toby  and  had  found  it 
wanting.  She  was  content  to  be  relieved  of  Toby. 
She  had  her  house  and  her  money  and  her  self-es- 
teem, and  also  tranquillity.  She  accepted  the  solu- 
tion, and  devoted  her  days  to  the  cleanliness  of  the 
house. 

Toby  drew  all  the  money  he  had  out  of  the  Burs- 


292     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

ley  and  Turnhill  Permanent  Fifty  Pounds  Benefit 
Building  Society  (four  shares,  nearly  paid  up)  and 
set  sail  —  in  the  Adriatic,  which  was  then  the  leading 
greyhound  of  the  Atlantic  —  for  New  York.  From 
New  York  he  went  to  Trenton  (New  Jersey) ,  which 
is  the  Five  Towns  of  America.  A  man  of  his  skill 
in  handling  clay  on  a  wheel  had  no  difficulty  what- 
ever in  wresting  a  good  livelihood  from  Trenton. 
When  he  had  tarried  there  a  year  he  caused  a  letter 
to  be  written  to  his  wife  informing  her  that  he  was 
dead.  He  wished  to  be  quite  free;  and  also  (we 
have  our  feeling  for  justice)  he  wished  his  wife  to 
be  quite  free.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  had 
done  anything  extraordinary,  either  in  deserting  his 
wife  or  in  forwarding  false  news  of  his  death.  He 
had  done  the  simple  thing,  the  casual  thing,  the  blunt 
thing,  the  thing  that  necessitated  the  minimum  of 
talking.  He  did  not  intend  to  return  to  England. 

However,  after  a  few  years,  he  did  return  to  Eng- 
land. The  cause  of  his  return  is  irrelevant  to  the 
history,  but  I  may  say  that  it  sprang  from  a  conflict 
between  the  Five  Towns  temperament  and  the  Tren- 
ton Union  of  Earthenware  Operatives.  Such  is  the 
power  of  Unions  in  the  United  States  that  Toby,  if 
he  wished  to  remain  under  the  Federal  Flag,  had 
either  to  yield  or  to  starve.  He  would  not  yield. 
He  changed  his  name  and  came  to  England ;  strolled 
calmly  into  the  Crown  Porcelain  Works  at  Derby  one 
day,  and  there  recommenced  his  career  as  an  artificer 
of  earthenware.  He  did  well.  He  could  easily 
earn  four  pounds  a  week,  and  he  had  no  desires,  save 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      293 

in  the  direction  of  fly-fishing  —  not  an  expensive 
diversion.  He  knew  better  than  to  marry.  He 
existed  quietly;  and  one  year  trod  on  the  heels  of 
another,  and  carried  him  from  thirty  to  forty  and 
from  forty  to  fifty,  and  no  one  found  out  his  identity, 
though  there  are  several  direct  trains  daily  between 
Derby  and  Knype. 

And,  now,  owing  to  the  death  of  a  friend  and  a 
glass  of  beer,  he  was  in  Child  Row,  crossing  the 
street  towards  the  house  whose  ownership  had 
caused  him  to  quit  it. 

He  knocked  on  the  door  with  the  handle  of  his 
umbrella.  There  was  no  knocker;  there  never  had 
been  a  knocker. 

Ill 

The  door  opened  cautiously,  as  such  doors  in  the 
Five  Towns  do,  after  a  shooting  of  bolts  and  a  loos- 
ing of  chains;  it  opened  to  the  extent  of  about  nine 
inches,  and  Toby  Hall  saw  the  face  of  a  middle- 
aged  woman  eyeing  him. 

"  Is  this  Mrs.  Hall's?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

"No.  It  ain't  Mrs.  Hall's.  It's  Mrs.  Tans- 
ley's." 

"Ithowt " 

The  door  opened  a  little  wider. 

"That's  not  you,  Tobias?"  said  the  woman  un- 
moved. 

"  I  reckon  it  is,  though,"  replied  Toby,  with  a 
difficult  smile. 

"  Bless  us !  "   exclaimed  the  woman.     The   door 


294    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

oscillated  slightly  under  her  hand.  "  Bless  us!  "  she 
repeated.  And  then  suddenly,  "  You'd  happen  bet- 
ter come  in,  Tobias." 

"Ay!"  said  Tobias. 

And  he  entered. 

"  Sit  ye  down,  do,"  said  his  wife.  "  I  thowt  as 
you  were  dead.  They  wrote  and  told  me  so." 

"  Ay!  "  said  Tobias.     "  But  I  am  na'.11 

He  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  old-fash- 
ioned grate,  with  its  hobs  at  either  side.  He  was 
acquainted  with  that  chair,  and  it  had  not  apprecia- 
bly altered  since  his  departure.  The  lastingness  of 
furniture  under  fair  treatment  is  astonishing.  This 
chair  was  uncomfortable  in  exactly  the  same  spot 
where  it  had  always  been  uncomfortable;  and  the 
same  antimacassar  was  draped  over  its  uncompromis- 
ing back.  Toby  put  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  leaned 
his  umbrella  against  the  chimney-piece.  His  over- 
coat he  retained.  Same  table;  same  chimney-piece; 
same  clock  and  ornaments  on  the  chimney-piece! 
But  a  different  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  different  cur- 
tains before  the  window. 

Priscilla  bolted  and  chained  the  door,  and  then 
she  too  sat  down.  Her  gown  was  black,  with  a 
small  black  silk  apron.  And  she  was  stout,  and  she 
wore  felt  slippers  and  moved  with  the  same  gingerly 
care  as  Toby  himself  did.  She  looked  fully  her 
years.  Her  thin  lips  were  firmer  than  ever.  It  was 
indeed  Priscilla. 

"  Well,  well!  "  she  murmered. 

But  her  capacity  for  wonder  was  nearly  exhausted. 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      295 

"  Ay !  "  said  Toby,  with  an  air  that  was  meant  to 
be  quasi-humorous.  He  warmed  his  hands  at  the 
fire,  and  then  rubbed  them  over  the  front  of  his 
calves,  leaning  forward. 

"  So  ye've  come  back!  "  said  Priscilla. 

"  Ay !  "  concurred  Toby. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Cold  weather  we're  having,"  he  muttered. 

"  It's  seasonable,"  Priscilla  pointed  out. 

Her  glance  rested  on  a  sprig  of  holly  that  was  tied 
under  the  gas-chandelier,  unique  relic  of  Christmas 
in  the  apartment. 

Another  pause.  It  would  be  hazardous  to  guess 
what  their  feelings  were ;  perhaps  their  feelings  were 
scarcely  anything  at  all. 

"And  what  be  the  news?"  Toby  enquired,  with 
what  passes  in  the  Five  Towns  for  geniality. 

"News?"  she  repeated,  as  if  not  immediately 
grasping  the  significance  of  the  question.  "  I  don't 
know  as  there's  any  news,  nothing  partic'ler,  that  is." 

Hung  on  the  wall  near  the  chimney-piece  was  a 
photograph  of  a  girl.  It  was  an  excellent  likeness 
of  Priscilla,  as  she  was  in  Toby's  pre-Trenton  days. 
How  young  and  fresh  the  creature  looked;  so  simple, 
so  inexperienced  !  It  startled  Toby. 

"  I  don't  remember  that,"  he  said. 

"What?" 

"  That!  "  And  he  jerked  his  elbow  towards  the 
photograph. 

"  Oh !  That!  That's  my  daughter,"  said  Pris- 
cilla. 


296    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Bless  us !  "  said  Toby  in  his  turn. 

"  I  married  Job  Tansley,"  Priscilla  continued. 
"  He  died  four  years  ago  last  Knype  Wakes  Mon- 
day, tier's  married  "  —  indicating  the  photograph 
— -  "  her  married  young  Gibson  last  September." 

"Well,  well!  "  murmured  Toby. 

Another  pause. 

There  was  a  shuffling  on  the  pavement  outside,  and 
some  children  began  to  sing  about  shepherds  and 
flocks. 

"  Oh,  bother  them  childer,"  said  Priscilla.  "  I 
must  send  'em  off." 

She  got  up. 

"  Here !  Give  'em  a  penny,"  Toby  suggested, 
holding  out  a  penny. 

"  Yes,  and  then  they'll  tell  others,  and  I  shan't 
have  a  moment's  peace  all  night !  "  Priscilla  grum- 
bled. 

However,  she  bestowed  the  penny,  cutting  the  song 
off  abruptly  in  the  middle.  And  she  bolted  and 
chained  the  door  and  sat  down  again. 

Another  pause. 

"Well,  well!  "said  Priscilla. 

"  Ay !  "  Toby  agreed.     "  Good  coal  that !  " 

"  Fourteen  shilling  a  ton !  " 

Another  pause,  and  a  longer. 

"  Is  Ned  Walklate  still  at  th'  Rose  and  Crown?  " 
Toby  asked. 

"  For  aught  I  know  he  is,"  said  Priscilla. 

"  I'll  just  step  round  there,"  said  Toby,  picking  up 
his  hat  and  rising. 


BEGINNING  THE  NEW  YEAR      297 

As  he  was  manoeuvring  the  door-chain,  Priscilla 
said  — 

"  You're  forgetting  your  umbrella,  Tobias." 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  I  hanna'  forgotten  it. 
I'm  coming  back." 

Their  eyes  met,  charged  with  meaning. 

11  That'll  be  all  right,"  she  said.     "  Well,  well !  " 

"Ay!" 

And  he  stepped  round  to  Ned  Walklate's. 


HIS  WORSHIP  THE  GOOSEDRIVER 


IT  was  an  amiable  but  deceitful  afternoon  in  the 
third  week  of  December.     Snow  fell  heavily  in 
the  windows  of  confectioners'  shops,  and  Father 
Christmas  smiled  in  Keats's  Bazaar  the  fawning  smile 
of  a  myth  who  knows  himself  to  be  exploded;  but  be- 
yond these  and  similar  efforts  to  remedy  the  forget- 
fulness  of  a  careless  climate,  there  was  no  sign  any- 
where in  the  Five  Towns,  and  especially  in  Bursley, 
of  the  immediate  approach  of  the  season  of  peace, 
goodwill,  and  gluttony  on  earth. 

At  the  Tiger,  next  door  to  Keats's  market-place, 
Mr.  Josiah  Topham  Curtenty  had  put  down  his 
glass  (the  port  was  kept  specially  for  him),  and  told 
his  boon  companion,  Mr.  Gordon,  that  he  must  be 
going.  These  two  men  had  one  powerful  sentiment 
in  common :  they  loved  the  same  woman.  Mr.  Cur- 
tenty, aged  twenty-six  in  heart,  thirty-six  in  mind, 
and  forty-six  in  looks,  was  fifty-six  only  in  years. 
He  was  a  rich  man;  he  had  made  money  as  an  earth- 
enware manufacturer  in  the  good  old  times  before 
Satan  was  ingenious  enough  to  invent  German  com- 
petition, American  tariffs,  and  the  price  of  coal;  he 
was  still  making  money  with  the  aid  of  his  son 

298 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  299 

Harry,  who  now  managed  the  works,  but  he  never 
admitted  that  he  was  making  it.  No  one  has  yet 
succeeded,  and  no  one  ever  will  succeed,  in  catching 
an  earthenware  manufacturer  in  the  act  of  making 
money;  he  may  confess  with  a  sigh  that  he  has  per- 
formed the  feat  in  the  past,  he  may  give  utterance 
to  a  vague,  preposterous  hope  that  he  will  perform 
it  again  in  the  remote  future,  but  as  for  surprising 
him  in  the  very  act,  you  would  as  easily  surprise  a  hen 
laying  an  egg.  Nowadays  Mr.  Curtenty,  commer- 
cially secure,  spent  most  of  his  energy  in  helping  to 
shape  and  control  the  high  destinies  of  the  town. 
He  was  Deputy-Mayor,  and  Chairman  of  the  Gen- 
eral Purposes  Committee  of  the  Town  Council;  he 
was  also  a  Guardian  of  the  Poor,  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  President  of  the  Society  for  the  Prosecution 
of  Felons,  a  sidesman,  an  Oddfellow,  and  several 
other  things  that  meant  dining,  shrewdness,  and 
good-nature.  He  was  a  short,  stiff,  stout,  red-faced 
man,  jolly  with  the  jollity  that  springs  from  a  kind 
heart,  a  humorous  disposition,  a  perfect  diges- 
tion, and  the  respectful  deference  of  one's  bank- 
manager.  Without  being  a  member  of  the  Brown- 
ing Society,  he  held  firmly  to  the  belief  that  all's 
right  with  the  world. 

Mr.  Gordon,  who  has  but  a  sorry  part  in  the 
drama,  was  a  younger,  quieter,  less  forceful  person, 
rather  shy;  a  municipal  mediocrity,  perhaps  a  little 
inflated  that  day  by  reason  of  his  having  been  elected 
to  the  Chairmanship  of  the  Gas  and  Lighting  Com- 
mittee. 


3oo     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Both  men  had  sat  on  their  committees  at  the  Town 
Hall  across  the  way  that  deceitful  afternoon,  and 
we  see  them  now,  after  refreshment  well  earned  and 
consumed,  about  to  separate  and  sink  into  private 
life.  But  as  they  came  out  into  the  portico  of  the 
Tiger,  the  famous  Calypso-like  barmaid  of  the 
Tiger  a  hovering  enchantment  in  the  background,  it 
occurred  that  a  flock  of  geese  were  meditating,  as 
geese  will,  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  The  goose- 
herd,  a  shabby  middle-aged  man,  looked  as  though 
he  had  recently  lost  the  Battle  of  Marathon,  and 
was  asking  himself  whether  the  path  of  his  retreat 
might  not  lie  through  the  bar-parlour  of  the  Tiger. 

"Business  pretty  good?"  Mr.  Curtenty  enquired 
of  him  cheerfully. 

In  the  Five  Towns  business  takes  the  place  of 
weather  as  a  topic  of  salutation. 

"Business!"  echoed  the  gooseherd. 

In  that  one  unassisted  noun,  scorning  the  aid  of 
verb,  adjective,  or  adverb,  the  gooseherd,  by  a  mas- 
terpiece of  profound  and  subtle  emphasis,  contrived 
to  express  the  fact  that  he  existed  in  a  world  of  dead 
illusions,  that  he  had  become  a  convert  to  Schopen- 
hauer, and  that  Mr.  Curtenty's  inapposite  geniality 
was  a  final  grievance  to  him. 

"  There  ain't  no  business!  "  he  added. 

"Ah!  "  returned  Mr.  Curtenty,  thoughtful:  such 
an  assertion  of  the  entire  absence  of  business  was 
a  reflection  upon  the  town. 

"  Sithee !  "  said  the  gooseherd  in  ruthless  accents, 
"  I  druv  these  'ere  geese  into  this  'ere  town  this 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  301 

morning."  (Here  he  exaggerated  the  number  of 
miles  traversed.)  'Twelve  geese  and  two  gander 
—  a  Brent  and  a  Barnacle.  And  how  many  is  there 
now?  How  many?" 

"  Fourteen,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  having  counted; 
and  Mr.  Curtenty  gazed  at  him  in  reproach,  for  that 
he,  a  Town  Councillor,  had  thus  mathematically 
demonstrated  the  commercial  decadence  of  Bursley. 

"Market  overstocked,  eh?"  Mr.  Curtenty  sug- 
gested, throwing  a  side-glance  at  Callear  the  poulter- 
er's close  by,  which  was  crammed  with  everything 
that  flew,  swam,  or  waddled. 

"  Call  this  a  market?  "  said  the  gooseherd.  "  I'st 
tak'  my  lot  over  to  Hanbridge,  wheer  there  is  a  bit 
doing,  by  all  accounts." 

Now,  Mr.  Curtenty  had  not  the  least  intention 
of  buying  those  geese,  but  nothing  could  be  better 
calculated  to  straighten  the  back  of  a  Bursley  man 
than  a  reference  to  the  mercantile  activity  of  Han- 
bridge,  that  Chicago  of  the  Five  Towns. 

"  How  much  for  the  lot?  "  he  enquired. 

In  that  moment  he  reflected  upon  his  reputation; 
he  knew  that  he  was  a  cure,  a  card,  a  character;  he 
knew  that  everyone  would  think  it  just  like  Jos  Cur- 
tenty, the  renowned  Deputy-Mayor  of  Bursley,  to 
stand  on  the  steps  of  the  Tiger  and  pretend  to  chaffer 
with  a  gooseherd  for  a  flock  of  geese.  His  imagina- 
tion caught  the  sound  of  an  oft-repeated  inquiry, 
"  Did  ye  hear  about  old  Jos's  latest  —  trying  to  buy 
them  there  geese  ? "  and  the  appreciative  laughter 
that  would  follow. 


302     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  gooseherd  faced  him  In  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Curtenty  again,  his  eyes  twin- 
kling, "  how  much  for  the  lot?  " 

The  gooseherd  gloomily  and  suspiciously  named 
a  sum. 

Mr.  Curtenty  named  a  sum  startlingly  less,  ending 
in  sixpence. 

"  I'll  tak'  it,"  said  the  gooseherd,  in  a  tone  that 
closed  on  the  bargain  like  a  vice. 

The  Deputy-Mayor  perceived  himself  the  owner 
of  twelve  geese  and  two  ganders  —  one  Brent,  one 
Barnacle.  It  was  a  shock,  but  he  sustained  it.  In- 
voluntarily he  looked  at  Mr.  Gordon. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  get  'em  home,  Curtenty?  " 
asked  Gordon,  with  coarse  sarcasm;  "  drive  'em?  " 

Nettled,  Mr.  Curtenty  retorted : 

"  Now,  then,  Gas  Gordon !  " 

The  barmaid  laughed  aloud  at  this  sobriquet, 
which  that  same  evening  was  all  over  the  town,  and 
which  has  stuck  ever  since  to  the  Chairman  of  the 
Gas  and  Lighting  Committee.  Mr.  Gordon  wished, 
and  has  never  ceased  to  wish,  either  that  he  had  been 
elected  to  some  other  committee,  or  that  his  name 
had  begun  with  some  other  letter. 

The  gooseherd  received  the  purchase-money  like 
an  affront,  but  when  Mr.  Curtenty,  full  of  private 
mirth,  said,  "  Chuck  us  your  stick  in,"  he  gave  him 
the  stick,  and  smiled  under  reservation.  Jos  Cur- 
tenty had  no  use  for  the  geese ;  he  could  conceive  no 
purpose  which  they  might  be  made  to  serve,  no 
smallest  corner  for  them  in  his  universe.  Neverthe- 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  303 

less,  since  he  had  rashly  stumbled  into  a  ditch,  he 
determined  to  emerge  from  it  grandly,  impressively, 
magnificently.  He  instantaneously  formed  a  plan 
by  which  he  would  snatch  victory  out  of  defeat.  He 
would  take  Gordon's  suggestion,  and  himself  drive 
the  geese  up  to  his  residence  in  Hillport,  that  lofty 
and  aristocratic  suburb.  It  would  be  an  immense, 
an  unparalleled  farce;  a  wonder,  a  topic  for  years, 
the  crown  of  his  reputation  as  a  card. 

He  announced  his  intention  with  that  misleading 
sobriety  and  ordinariness  of  tone  which  it  has  been 
the  foible  of  many  great  humorists  to  assume.  Mr. 
Gordon  lifted  his  head  several  times  very  quickly,  as 
if  to  say,  "  What  next?  "  and  then  actually  departed, 
which  was  a  clear  proof  that  the  man  had  no  imagi- 
nation and  no  soul. 

The  gooseherd  winked. 

"  You  be  rightly  called  '  Curtenty,'  mester,"  said 
he,  and  passed  into  the  Tiger. 

"  That's  the  best  joke  I  ever  heard,"  Jos  said  to 
himself.  "  I  wonder  whether  he  saw  it." 

Then  the  procession  of  the  geese  and  the  Deputy- 
Mayor  commenced.  Now,  it  is  not  to  be  assumed 
that  Mr.  Curtenty  was  necessarily  bound  to  look 
foolish  in  the  driving  of  geese.  He  was  no  nincom- 
poop. On  the  contrary,  he  was  one  of  those  men 
who,  bringing  common-sense  and  presence  of  mind 
to  every  action  of  their  lives,  do  nothing  badly,  and 
always  escape  the  ridiculous.  He  marshalled  his 
geese  with  notable  gumption,  adopted  towards  them 
exactly  the  correct  stress  of  persuasion,  and  presently 


304    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

he  smiled  to  see  them  preceding  him  in  the  direction 
of  Hillport.  He  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left, 
but  simply  at  his  geese,  and  thus  the  quidnuncs  of  the 
market-place  and  the  supporters  of  shop-fronts  were 
unable  to  catch  his  eye.  He  tried  to  feel  like  a 
gooseherd;  and  such  was  his  histrionic  quality,  his  in- 
stinct for  the  dramatic,  he  was  a  gooseherd,  despite 
his  blue  Melton  overcoat,  his  hard  felt  hat  with  the 
flattened  top,  and  that  opulent-curving  collar  which 
was  the  secret  despair  of  the  young  dandies  of  Hill- 
port.  He  had  the  most  natural  air  in  the  world. 
The  geese  were  the  victims  of  this  imaginative  effort 
of  Mr.  Curtenty's.  They  took  him  seriously  as  a 
gooseherd.  These  fourteen  intelligences,  each  with 
an  object  in  life,  each  bent  on  self-aggrandisement 
and  the  satisfaction  of  desires,  began  to  follow  the 
line  of  least  resistance  in  regard  to  the  superior  in- 
telligence unseen  but  felt  behind  them,  feigning,  as 
geese  will,  that  it  suited  them  so  to  submit,  and  that 
in  reality  they  were  still  quite  independent.  But  in 
the  peculiar  eye  of  the  Barnacle  gander,  who  was 
leading,  an  observer  with  sufficient  fancy  might  have 
deciphered  a  mild  revolt  against  this  triumph  of  the 
absurd,  the  accidental,  and  the  futile;  a  passive  yet 
Promethean  spiritual  defiance  of  the  supreme  powers. 
Mr.  Curtenty  got  his  fourteen  intelligences  safely 
across  the  top  of  St.  Luke's  Square,  and  gently 
urged  them  into  the  steep  defile  of  Oldcastle  Street. 
By  this  time  rumour  had  passed  in  front  of  him  and 
run  off  down  side-streets  like  water  let  into  an  irriga- 
tion system.  At  every  corner  was  a  knot  of  people, 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  305 

at  most  windows  a  face.  And  the  Deputy-Mayor 
never  spoke  nor  smiled.  The  farce  was  enormous; 
the  memory  of  it  would  survive  revolutions  and  reli- 
gions. 

Half-way  down  Oldcastle  Street  the  first  disaster 
happened.  Electric  tramways  had  not  then  knitted 
the  Five  Towns  in  a  network  of  steel;  but  the  last 
word  of  civilisation  and  refinement  was  about  to  be 
uttered,  and  a  gang  of  men  were  making  patterns 
with  wires  on  the  skyscape  of  Oldcastle  Street.  One 
of  the  wires,  slipping  from  its  temporary  gripper, 
swirled  with  an  extraordinary  sound  into  the  road- 
way, and  writhed  there  in  spirals.  Several  of  Mr. 
Curtenty's  geese  were  knocked  down,  and  rose  ob- 
viously annoyed;  but  the  Barnacle  gander  fell  with 
a  clinging  circle  of  wire  round  his  muscular,  glossy 
neck,  and  did  not  rise  again.  It  was  a  violent,  mys- 
terious, agonising,  and  sudden  death  for  him,  and 
must  have  confirmed  his  theories  about  the  arbitrari- 
ness of  things.  The  thirteen  passed  pitilessly  on. 
Mr.  Curtenty  freed  the  gander  from  the  coiling  wire, 
and  picked  it  up,  but,  finding  it  far  too  heavy  to 
carry,  he  handed  it  to  a  Corporation  road-sweeper. 

"  I'll  send  for  it,"  he  said;  "  wait  here." 

These  were  the  only  words  uttered  by  him  during 
a  memorable  journey. 

The  second  disaster  was  that  the  deceitful  after- 
noon turned  to  rain  —  cold,  cruel  rain,  persistent 
rain,  full  of  sinister  significance.  Mr.  Curtenty  rue- 
fully raised  the  velvet  of  his  Melton.  As  he  did  so 
a  brougham  rolled  into  Oldcastle  Street,  a  little  in 


306    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

front  of  him,  from  the  direction  of  St.  Peter's 
Church,  and  vanished  towards  Hillport.  He  knew 
the  carriage;  he  had  bought  it  and  paid  for  it. 
Deep,  far  down,  in  his  mind  stirred  the  thought: 

"  I'm  just  the  least  bit  glad  she  didn't  see  me." 

He  had  the  suspicion,  which  recurs  even  to  opti- 
mists, that  happiness  is  after  all  a  chimera. 

The  third  disaster  was  that  the  sun  set  and  dark- 
ness descended.  Mr.  Curtenty  had,  unfortunately, 
not  reckoned  with  this  diurnal  phenomenon;  he  had 
not  thought  upon  the  undesirability  of  being  under 
compulsion  to  drive  geese  by  the  sole  illumination  of 
gas-lamps  lighted  by  Corporation  gas. 

After  this  disasters  multiplied.  Dark  and  the 
rain  had  transformed  the  farce  into  something  else. 
It  was  five-thirty  when  at  last  he  reached  The  Firs, 
and  the  garden  of  The  Firs  was  filled  with  lamenta- 
ble complainings  of  a  remnant  of  geese.  His  man 
Pond  met  him  with  a  stable-lantern. 

"  Damp,  sir,"  said  Pond. 

"  Oh,  nowt  to  speak  of,"  said  Mr.  Curtenty,  and, 
taking  off  his  hat,  he  shot  the  fluid  contents  of  the 
brim  into  Pond's  face.  It  was  his  way  of  dotting 
the  "  i  "  of  irony.  "  Missis  come  in?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  have  but  just  rubbed  the  horse  down." 

So  far  no  reference  to  the  surrounding  geese,  all 
forlorn  in  the  heavy  winter  rain. 

"  I've  gotten  a  two-three  geese  and  one  gander 
here  for  Christmas,"  said  Mr.  Curtenty  after  a 
pause.  To  inferiors  he  always  used  the  dialect. 

"Yes,  sir." 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  307 

11  Turn  'em  into  th'  orchard,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  They  aren't  all  here.  Thou  mun  put  th'  horse 
in  the  trap  and  fetch  the  rest  thysen." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  One's  dead.  A  roadman's  takkin'  care  on  it  in 
Oldcastle  Street.  He'll  wait  for  thee.  Give  him 
sixpence." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  another  got  into  th'  cut  [canal]." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  another  strayed  on  the  railway-line  — 
happen  it's  run  over  by  this." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  one's  making  the  best  of  her  way  to  Old- 
castle.  I  couldna  coax  her  in  here." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Collect  'em." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Curtenty  walked  away  towards  the  house. 

"Mester!"  Pond  called  after  him,  flashing  the 
lantern. 

"Well,  lad?" 

"  There's  no  gander  i'  this  lot." 

"Hast  forgotten  to  count  thysen?"  Mr.  Cur- 
tenty answered  blithely  from  the  shelter  of  the 
side-door. 

But  within  himself  he  was  a  little  crest-fallen  to 
think  that  the  surviving  gander  should  have  escaped 
his  vigilance,  even  in  the  darkness.  He  had  set  out 
to  drive  the  geese  home,  and  he  had  driven  them 


308     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

home,  most  of  them.  He  had  kept  his  temper,  his 
dignity,  his  cheerfulness.  He  had  got  a  bargain  in 
geese.  So  much  was  indisputable  ground  for  satis- 
faction. And  yet  the  feeling  of  an  anticlimax  would 
not  be  dismissed.  Upon  the  whole,  his  transit  lacked 
glory.  It  had  begun  in  splendour,  but  it  had  ended 
in  discomfort  and  almost  ignominy.  Nevertheless, 
Mr.  Curtenty's  unconquerable  soul  asserted  itself  in 
a  quite  genuine  and  tuneful  whistle  as  he  entered  the 
house. 

The  fate  of  the  Brent  gander  was  never  ascer- 
tained. 

II 

The  dining-room  of  The  Firs  was  a  spacious  and 
inviting  refectory,  which  owed  nothing  of  its  charm 
to  William  Morris,  Regent  Street,  or  the  Arts  and 
Crafts  Society.  Its  triple  aim  was  richness,  solidity, 
and  comfort,  but  especially  comfort;  and  this  aim 
was  achieved  in  new  oak  furniture  of  immovable 
firmness,  in  a  Turkey  carpet  which  swallowed  up  the 
feet  like  a  feather  bed,  and  in  large  oil-paintings, 
whose  darkly-glinting  frames  were  a  guarantee  of 
their  excellence.  On  a  winter's  night,  as  now,  the 
room  was  at  its  richest,  solidest,  most  comfortable. 
The  blue  plush  curtains  were  drawn  on  their  stout 
brass  rods  across  door  and  French  window.  Finest 
selected  silkstone  fizzed  and  flamed  in  a  patent  grate 
which  had  the  extraordinary  gift  of  radiating  heat 
into  the  apartment  instead  of  up  the  chimney.  The 
shaded  Welsbach  lights  of  the  chandelier  cast  a 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  309 

dazzling  luminance  on  the  tea-table  of  snow  and 
silver,  while  leaving  the  pictures  in  a  gloom  so  dis- 
creet that  not  Ruskin  himself  could  have  decided 
whether  these  were  by  Whistler  or  Peter  Paul  Ru- 
bens. On  either  side  of  the  marble  mantelpiece 
were  two  easy  chairs  of  an  immense,  incredible  ca- 
pacity, chairs  of  crimson  plush  for  Titans,  chairs 
softer  than  moss,  more  pliant  than  a  loving  heart, 
more  enveloping  than  a  caress.  In  one  of  these 
chairs,  that  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace,  Mr.  Curtenty 
was  accustomed  to  snore  every  Saturday  and  Sunday 
afternoon,  and  almost  every  evening.  The  other 
was  usually  empty,  but  to-night  it  was  occupied  by 
Mrs.  Curtenty,  the  jewel  of  the  casket.  In  the 
presence  of  her  husband  she  always  used  a  small  rock- 
ing-chair of  ebonised  cane. 

To  glance  at  this  short,  slight,  yet  plump  little 
creature  as  she  reclined  crosswise  in  the  vast  chair, 
leaving  great  spaces  of  the  seat  unfilled,  was  to  think 
rapturously  to  one's  self:  This  is  a  woman.  Her 
fluffy  head  was  such  a  dot  against  the  back  of  the 
chair,  the  curve  of  her  chubby  ringed  hand  above 
the  head  was  so  adorable,  her  black  eyes  were  so 
provocative,  her  slippered  feet  so  wee  —  yes,  and 
there  was  something  so  mysteriously  thrilling  about 
the  fall  of  her  skirt  that  you  knew  instantly  her  name 
was  Clara,  her  temper  both  fiery  and  obstinate,  and 
her  personality  distracting.  You  knew  that  she  was 
one  of  those  women  of  frail  physique  who  can  en- 
dure fatigues  that  would  destroy  a  camel;  one  of 
those  daemonic  women  capable  of  doing  without  sleep 


3io    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

for  ten  nights  in  order  to  nurse  you ;  capable  of  dying 
and  seeing  you  die  rather  than  give  way  about  the 
tint  of  a  necktie;  capable  of  laughter  and  tears  simul- 
taneously; capable  of  never  being  in  the  wrong  ex- 
cept for  the  idle  whim  of  so  being.  She  had  a  big 
mouth  and  very  wide  nostrils,  and  her  years  were 
thirty-five.  It  was  no  matter;  it  would  have  been  no 
matter  had  she  been  a  hundred  and  thirty-five.  In 
short  .  . 

Clara  Curtenty  wore  tight-fitting  black  silk,  with  a 
long  gold  chain  that  descended  from  her  neck  nearly 
to  her  waist,  and  was  looped  up  in  the  middle  to  an 
old-fashioned  gold  brooch.  She  was  in  mourning 
for  a  distant  relative.  Black  pre-eminently  suited 
her.  Consequently  her  distant  relatives  died  at  fre- 
quent intervals. 

The  basalt  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  trembled  and 
burst  into  the  song  of  six.  Clara  Curtenty  rose 
swiftly  from  the  easy-chair,  and  took  her  seat  in  front 
of  the  tea-tray.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  a  neat 
black-and-white  parlour-maid  brought  in  teapot,  cop- 
per kettle,  and  a  silver-covered  dish  containing  hot 
pikelets;  then  departed.  Clara  was  alone  again;  not 
the  same  Clara  now,  but  a  personage  demure,  prim, 
precise,  frightfully  upright  of  back  —  a  sort  of  im- 
pregnable stronghold  —  without  doubt  a  Deputy- 
Mayoress. 

At  five  past  six  Josiah  Curtenty  entered  the  room, 
radiant  from  a  hot  bath,  and  happy  in  dry  clothes  — 
a  fine,  if  mature,  figure  of  a  man.  His  presence  filled 
the  whole  room. 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  311 

"  Well,  my  chuck!  "  he  said,  and  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek. 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  that  might  mean 
anything.  Did  she  raise  her  cheek  to  his  greeting, 
or  was  it  fancy  that  she  had  endured,  rather  than  ac- 
cepted, his  kiss  ?  He  was  scarcely  sure.  And  if  she 
had  endured  instead  of  accepting  the  kiss,  was  her 
mood  to  be  attributed  to  his  lateness  for  tea,  or  to 
the  fact  that  she  was  aware  of  the  episode  of  the 
geese  ?  He  could  not  divine. 

"  Pikelets !  Good !  "  he  exclaimed,  taking  the 
cover  off  the  dish. 

This  strong,  successful,  and  dominant  man  adored 
his  wife,  and  went  in  fear  of  her.  She  was  his  first 
love,  but  his  second  spouse.  They  had  been  mar- 
ried ten  years.  In  those  ten  years  they  had  quar- 
relled only  five  times,  and  she  had  changed  the  very 
colour  of  his  life.  Till  his  second  marriage  he  had 
boasted  that  he  belonged  to  the  people  and  retained 
the  habits  of  the  people.  Clara,  though  she  also  be- 
longed to  the  people,  very  soon  altered  all  that. 
Clara  had  a  passion  for  the  genteel.  Like  many 
warm-hearted,  honest,  clever,  and  otherwise  sensible 
persons,  Clara  was  a  snob,  but  a  charming  little  snob. 
She  ordered  him  to  forget  that  he  belonged  to  the 
people.  She  refused  to  listen  when  he  talked  in  the 
dialect.  She  made  him  dress  with  opulence,  and  even 
with  tidiness;  she  made  him  buy  a  fashionable  house 
and  fill  it  with  fine  furniture;  she  made  him  buy  a 
brougham  in  which  her  gentility  could  pay  calls  and 
do  shopping  (she  shopped  in  Oldcastle,  where  a 


3i2     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

decrepit  aristocracy  of  tradesmen  sneered  at  Han- 
bridge's  lack  of  style);  she  had  her  "day";  she 
taught  the  servants  to  enter  the  reception-rooms 
without  knocking;  she  took  tea  in  bed  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  tea  in  the  afternoon  in  the  drawing-room. 
She  would  have  instituted  dinner  at  seven,  but  she 
was  a  wise  woman,  and  realised  that  too  much 
tyranny  often  means  revolution  and  the  crumbling  of 
thrones;  therefore  the  ancient  plebeian  custom  of 
high  tea  at  six  was  allowed  to  persist  and  continue. 

She  it  was  who  had  compelled  Josiah  (or  be- 
witched, beguiled,  coaxed  and  wheedled  him),  after 
a  public  refusal,  to  accept  the  unusual  post  of  Deputy- 
Mayor.  In  two  years'  time  he  might  count  on  being 
Mayor.  Why,  then,  should  Clara  have  been  so 
anxious  for  this  secondary  dignity?  Because,  in  that 
year  of  royal  festival,  Bursley,  in  common  with  many 
other  boroughs,  had  had  a  fancy  to  choose  a  Mayor 
out  of  the  House  of  Lords.  The  Earl  of  Chell,  a 
magnate  of  the  county,  had  consented  to  wear  the 
mayoral  chain  and  dispense  the  mayoral  hospitalities 
on  condition  that  he  was  provided  with  a  deputy  for 
daily  use. 

It  was  the  idea  of  herself  being  deputy  to  the 
lovely,  meddlesome,  and  arrogant  Countess  of  Chell 
that  had  appealed  to  Clara. 

The  deputy  of  a  Countess  at  length  spoke. 

"  Will  Harry  be  late  at  the  works  again  to-night?  " 
she  asked  in  her  colder,  small-talk  manner,  which 
committed  her  to  nothing,  as  Josiah  well  knew. 

Her  way  of  saying  that  word  "  Harry  "  was  inimi- 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  313 

tably  significant.  She  gave  it  an  air.  She  liked 
Harry,  and  she  liked  Harry's  name,  because  it  had 
a  Kensingtonian  sound.  Harry,  so  accomplished  in 
business,  was  also  a  dandy,  and  he  was  a  dog.  "  My 
stepson "  —  she  loved  to  introduce  him,  so  tall, 
manly,  distinguished,  and  dandiacal.  Harry,  en- 
riched by  his  own  mother,  belonged  to  a  London 
club ;  he  ran  down  to  Llandudno  for  week-ends ;  and 
it  was  reported  that  he  had  been  behind  the  scenes  at 
the  Alhambra.  Clara  felt  for  the  word  "  Harry  " 
the  unreasoning  affection  which  most  women  lavish 
on  "  George." 

"  Like  as  not,"  said  Josiah.  "  I  haven't  been  to 
the  works  this  afternoon." 

Another  silence  fell,  and  then  Josiah,  feeling  him- 
self unable  to  bear  any  further  suspense  as  to  his 
wife's  real  mood  and  temper,  suddenly  determined 
to  tell  her  all  about  the  geese,  and  know  the  worst. 
And  precisely  at  the  instant  that  he  opened  his  mouth, 
the  maid  opened  the  door  and  announced: 

"  Mr.  Duncalf  wishes  to  see  you  at  once,  sir.  He 
won't  keep  you  a  minute." 

"  Ask  him  in  here,  Mary,"  said  the  Deputy- 
Mayoress  sweetly;  "and  bring  another  cup  and 
saucer." 

Mr.  Duncalf  was  the  Town  Clerk  of  Bursley: 
legal,  portly,  dry,  and  a  little  shy. 

"  I  won't  stop,  Curtenty.  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs. 
Curtenty?  No,  thanks,  really-  But  she,  smil- 

ing, exquisitely  gracious,  flattered  and  smoothed  him 
into  a  chair. 


314     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"Any  interesting  news,  Mr.  Duncalf?"  she  said, 
and  added:  "  But  we're  glad  that  anything  should 
have  brought  you  in." 

"  Well,"  said  Duncalf,  "  I've  just  had  a  letter  by 
the  afternoon  post  from  Lord  Chell." 

"  Oh,  the  Earl!     Indeed;  how  very  interesting." 

"What's  he  after?"  inquired  Josiah  cautiously. 

"  He  says  he's  just  been  appointed  Governor  of 
East  Australia  —  announcement'll  be  in  to-morrow's 
papers  —  and  so  he  must  regretfully  resign  the 
mayoralty.  Says  he'll  pay  the  fine,  but  of  course  we 
shall  have  to  remit  that  by  special  resolution  of  the 
Council." 

"  Well,  I'm  damned!  "  Josiah  exclaimed. 

"  Topham !  "  Mrs.  Curtenty  remonstrated,  but 
with  a  delightful  acquitting  dimple.  She  never 
would  call  him  Josiah,  much  less  Jos.  Topham 
came  more  easily  to  her  lips,  and  sometimes  Top. 

"  Your  husband,"  said  Mr.  Duncalf  impressively 
to  Clara,  "  will,  of  course,  have  to  step  into  the 
Mayor's  shoes,  and  you'll  have  to  fill  the  place  of 
the  Countess."  He  paused,  and  added:  "And 
very  well  you'll  do  it,  too  —  very  well.  Nobody 
better." 

The  Town  Clerk  frankly  admired  Clara. 

"  Mr.  Duncalf —Mr.  Duncalf!  "  She  raised  a 
finger  at  him.  "  You  are  the  most  shameless  flatterer 
in  the  town." 

The  flatterer  was  flattered.  Having  delivered  the 
weighty  news,  he  had  leisure  to  savour  his  own  im- 
portance as  the  bearer  of  it.  He  drank  a  cup  of  tea. 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  315 

Josiah  was  thoughtful,  but  Clara  brimmed  over  with 
a  fascinating  loquacity.  Then  Mr.  Duncalf  said 
that  he  must  really  be  going,  and,  having  arranged 
with  the  Mayor-elect  to  call  a  special  meeting  of 
the  Council  at  once,  he  did  go,  all  the  while  wishing 
he  had  the  enterprise  to  stay. 

Josiah  accompanied  him  to  the  front-door.  The 
sky  had  now  cleared. 

"  Thank  ye  for  calling,"  said  the  host. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  Good-night,  Curtenty. 
Got  that  goose  out  of  the  canal?  " 

So  the  story  was  all  abroad ! 

Josiah  returned  to  the  dining-room,  imperceptibly 
smiling.  At  the  door  the  sight  of  his  wife  halted 
him.  The  face  of  that  precious  and  adorable  wo- 
man flamed  out  lightning  and  all  menace  and  offence. 
Her  louring  eyes  showed  what  a  triumph  of  dissimu- 
lation she  must  have  achieved  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Duncalf,  but  now  she  could  speak  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  Topham !  "  she  exploded,  as  though  finish- 
ing an  harangue.  "  And  on  this  day  of  all  days  you 
choose  to  drive  geese  in  the  public  road  behind  my 
carriage !  " 

Jos  was  stupefied,  annihilated. 

"  Did  you  see  me,  then,  Clarry?  " 

He  vainly  tried  to  carry  it  off. 

"  Did  I  see  you  ?     Of  course  I  saw  you  I  " 

She  withered  him  up  with  the  hot  wind  of  scorn. 

"  Well,"  he  said  foolishly,  "  how  was  I  to  know 
that  the  Earl  would  resign  just  to-day?  " 

"  How  were  you  to ?  " 


316    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Harry  came  in  for  his  tea.  He  glanced  from  one 
to  the  other,  discreet,  silent.  On  the  way  home  he 
had  heard  the  tale  of  the  geese  in  seven  different 
forms.  The  Deputy-Mayor,  so  soon  to  be  Mayor, 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

"  Pond  has  just  come  back,  father,"  said  Harry; 
"  I  drove  up  the  hill  with  him." 

And  as  Josiah  hesitated  a  moment  in  the  hall,  he 
heard  Clara  exclaim,  "  Oh,  Harry!  " 

"  Damn !  "  he  murmured. 

ill 

The  Signal  of  the  following  day  contained  the  an- 
nouncement which  Mr.  Duncalf  had  forecast;  it  also 
stated,  on  authority,  that  Mr.  Josiah  Curtenty  would 
wear  the  mayoral  chain  of  Bursley  immediately,  and 
added  as  its  own  private  opinion  that,  in  default  of 
the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Chell  and  his 
Countess,  no  better  "  civic  heads  "  could  have  been 
found  than  Mr.  Curtenty  and  his  charming  wife. 
So  far  the  tone  of  the  Signal  was  unimpeachable. 
But  underneath  all  this  was  a  sub-title,  "  Amusing 
Exploit  of  the  Mayor-elect,"  followed  by  an  amus- 
ing description  of  the  procession  of  the  geese,  a  de- 
scription which  concluded  by  referring  to  Mr.  Cur- 
tenty as  His  Worship  the  Goosedriver. 

Hanbridge,  Knype,  Longshaw,  and  Turnhill 
laughed  heartily,  and  perhaps  a  little  viciously,  at 
this  paragraph,  but  Bursley  was  annoyed  by  it.  In 
print  the  affair  did  not  look  at  all  well.  Bursley 
prided  itself  on  possessing  a  unique  dignity  as  the 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  317 

"  Mother  of  the  Five  Towns,"  and  to  be  presided 
over  by  a  goosedriver,  however  humorous  and  hospi- 
table he  might  be,  did  not  consort  with  that  dignity. 
A  certain  Mayor  of  Longshaw,  years  before,  had 
driven  a  sow  to  market,  and  derived  a  tremendous 
advertisement  therefrom,  but  Bursley  had  no  wish 
to  rival  Longshaw  in  any  particular,  Bursley  re- 
garded Longshaw  as  the  Inferno  of  the  Five  Towns. 
In  Bursley  you  were  bidden  to  go  to  Longshaw  as 
you  were  bidden  to  go  to  .  .  .  Certain  acute 
people  in  Hillport  saw  nothing  but  a  paralysing  in- 
sult in  the  opinion  of  the  Signal  (first  and  foremost  a 
Hanbridge  organ),  that  Bursley  could  find  no  better 
civic  head  than  Josiah  Curtenty.  At  least  three 
Aldermen  and  seven  Councillors  privately  and  in 
the  Tiger,  disagreed  with  any  such  view  of  Bursley's 
capacity  to  find  heads. 

And  underneath  all  this  brooding  dissatisfaction 
lurked  the  thought,  as  the  alligator  lurks  in  a  muddy 
river,  that  "  the  Earl  wouldn't  like  it "  —  meaning 
the  geese  episode.  It  was  generally  felt  that  the 
Earl  had  been  badly  treated  by  Jos  Curtenty.  The 
town  could  not  explain  its  sentiments  —  could  not 
argue  about  them.  They  were  not,  in  fact,  capable 
of  logical  justification;  but  they  were  there,  they 
violently  existed.  It  would  have  been  useless  to 
point  out  that  if  the  inimitable  Jos  had  not  been 
called  to  the  mayoralty  the  episode  of  the  geese  would 
have  passed  as  a  gorgeous  joke;  that  everyone  had 
been  vastly  amused  by  it  until  that  desolating  issue  of 
the  Signal  announced  the  Earl's  retirement;  that  Jos 


3i8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Curtenty  could  not  possibly  have  foreseen  what  was 
about  to  happen;  and  that,  anyhow,  goose-driving 
was  less  a  crime  than  a  social  solecism,  and  less  a 
social  solecism  than  a  brilliant  eccentricity.  Bursley 
was  hurt,  and  logic  is  no  balm  for  wounds. 

Some  may  ask:  If  Bursley  was  offended,  why 
did  it  not  mark  its  sense  of  Josiah's  failure  to  read 
the  future  by  electing  another  Mayor?  The  answer 
is,  that  while  all  were  agreed  that  his  antic  was  in- 
excusable, all  were  equally  agreed  to  pretend  that  it 
was  a  mere  trifle  of  no  importance;  you  cannot  de- 
prive a  man  of  his  prescriptive  right  for  a  mere  trifle 
of  no  importance.  Besides,  nobody  could  be  so 
foolish  as  to  imagine  that  goosedriving,  though  rep- 
rehensible in  a  Mayor  about  to  succeed  an  Earl,  is 
an  act  of  which  official  notice  can  be  taken. 

The  most  curious  thing  in  the  whole  imbroglio 
is  that  Josiah  Curtenty  secretly  agreed  with  his  wife 
and  the  town.  He  was  ashamed,  overset.  His 
procession  of  geese  appeared  to  him  in  an  entirely 
new  light,  and  he  had  the  strength  of  mind  to  admit 
to  himself,  "  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself." 

Harry  went  to  London  for  a  week,  and  Josiah, 
under  plea  of  his  son's  absence,  spent  eight  hours  a 
day  at  the  works.  The  brougham  remained  in  the 
coach-house. 

The  Town  Council  duly  met  in  special  conclave, 
and  Josiah  Topham  Curtenty  became  Mayor  of 
Bursley. 

Shortly  after  Christmas  it  was  announced  that  the 
Mayor  and  Mayoress  had  decided  to  give  a  New 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  319 

Year's  treat  to  four  hundred  poor  old  people  In  the 
St.  Luke's  covered  market.  It  was  also  spread  about 
that  this  treat  would  eclipse  and  extinguish  all  pre- 
vious treats  of  a  similar  nature,  and  that  it  might  be 
accepted  as  some  slight  foretaste  of  the  hospitality 
which  the  Mayor  and  Mayoress  would  dispense  in 
that  memorable  year  of  royal  festival.  The  treat 
was  to  occur  on  January  9,  the  Mayoress's  birthday. 

On  January  7  Josiah  happened  to  go  home  early. 
He  was  proceeding  into  the  drawing-room  without 
enthusiasm  to  greet  his  wife,  when  he  heard  voices 
within;  and  one  voice  was  the  voice  of  Gas  Gordon. 

Jos  stood  still.  It  has  been  mentioned  that  Gor- 
don and  the  Mayor  were  in  love  with  the  same  wo- 
man. The  Mayor  had  easily  captured  her  under 
the  very  guns  of  his  not  formidable  rival,  and  he 
had  always  thereafter  felt  a  kind  of  benevolent, 
good-humoured,  contemptuous  pity  for  Gordon  — 
Gordon,  whose  life  was  a  tragic  blank;  Gordon,  who 
lived,  a  melancholy  and  defeated  bachelor,  with  his 
mother  and  two  unmarried  sisters  older  than  himself. 
That  Gordon  still  worshipped  at  the  shrine  did  not 
disturb  him;  on  the  contrary,  it  pleased  him.  Poor 
Gordon ! 

"  But,  really,  Mrs.  Curtenty,"  Gordon  was  saying 
— "  really,  you  know  I  —  that  —  is  —  really " 

"  To  please  me !  "  Mrs.  Curtenty  entreated,  with 
a  seductive  charm  that  Jos  felt  even  outside  the  door. 

Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Gordon. 

Mr.    Curtenty  tiptoed   away   and  back  into   the 


320    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

street.  He  walked  in  the  dark  nearly  to  Oldcastle, 
and  returned  about  six  o'clock.  But  Clara  said  no 
word  of  Gordon's  visit.  She  had  scarcely  spoken  to 
Topham  for  three  weeks. 

The  next  morning,  as  Harry  was  departing  to  the 
works,  Mrs.  Curtenty  followed  the  handsome  youth 
into  the  hall. 

"  Harry,"  she  whispered,  "  bring  me  two  ten- 
pound  notes  this  afternoon,  will  you,  and  say  nothing 
to  your  father." 

IV 

Gas  Gordon  was  to  be  on  the  platform  at  the  poor 
people's  treat.  As  he  walked  down  Trafalgar  Road 
his  eye  caught  a  still-exposed  fragment  of  a  decayed 
bill  on  a  hoarding.  It  referred  to  a  meeting  of  the 
local  branch  of  the  Anti-Gambling  League  a  year 
ago  in  the  lecture-hall  of  the  Wesleyan  Chapel,  and 
it  said  that  Councillor  Gordon  would  occupy  the 
chair  on  that  occasion.  Mechanically  Councillor 
Gordon  stopped  and  tore  the  fragment  away  from 
the  hoarding. 

The  treat,  which  took  the  form  of  a  dinner,  was 
an  unqualified  success;  it  surpassed  all  expectations. 
Even  the  diners  themselves  were  satisfied  —  a  rare 
thing  at  such  affairs.  Goose  was  a  prominent  item 
in  the  menu.  After  the  repast  the  replete  guests 
were  entertained  from  the  platform,  the  Mayor  be- 
ing, of  course,  in  the  chair.  Harry  sang  "  In  Old 
Madrid,"  accompanied  by  his  stepmother,  with 
faultless  expression.  Mr.  Duncalf  astonished  every- 


THE  GOOSEDRIVER  321 

body  with  the  famous  North-Country  recitation, 
"  The  Patent  Hair-brushing  Mashane."  There 
were  also  a  banjo  solo,  a  skirt  dance  of  discretion, 
and  a  campanological  turn.  At  last,  towards  ten 
o'clock,  Mr.  Gordon,  who  had  hitherto  done  noth- 
ing, rose  in  his  place,  amid  good-natured  cries  of 
"Gas!" 

"  I  feel  sure  you  will  all  agree  with  me,"  he  be- 
gan, "  that  this  evening  would  not  be  complete  with- 
out a  vote  of  thanks  —  a  very  hearty  vote  of  thanks 

—  to  our  excellent  host  and  chairman." 
Ear-splitting  applause. 

"  I've  got  a  little  story  to  tell  you,"  he  continued 
— "  a  story  that  up  to  this  moment  has  been  a  close 
secret  between  his  Worship  the  Mayor  and  myself." 
His  Worship  looked  up  sharply  at  the  speaker. 
"  You've  heard  about  some  geese,  I  reckon. 
(Laughter.)  Well,  you've  not  heard  all,  but  I'm 
going  to  tell  you.  I  can't  keep  it  to  myself  any 
longer.  You  think  his  Worship  drove  those  geese 

—  I  hope  they're  digesting  well   (loud  laughter)  — 
just   for  fun.     He  didn't.     I  was   with  him  when 
he  bought  them,  and  I  happened  to  say  that  goose- 
driving  was  a  very  difficult  accomplishment." 

"  Depends  on  the  geese  I  "  shouted  a  voice. 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  Mr.  Gordon  admitted.  "  Well, 
his  Worship  contradicted  me,  and  we  had  a  bit  of 
an  argument.  I  don't  bet,  as  you  know  —  at  least, 
not  often  —  but  I  don't  mind  confessing  that  I 
offered  to  bet  him  a  sovereign  he  couldn't  drive  his 
geese  half  a  mile.  '  Look  here,  Gordon,'  he  said 


322    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

to  me :  *  there's  a  lot  of  distress  in  the  town  just 
now  — '  trade  bad,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  I'll  lay 
you  a  level  ten  pounds  I  drive  these  geese  to  Hill- 
port  myself,  the  loser  to  give  the  money  to 
charity.'  '  Done,'  I  said.  '  Don't  say  anything 
about  it,'  he  says.  '  I  won't,'  I  says  —  but  I  am 
doing.  (Applause.)  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  say 
something  about  it.  (More  applause.)  Well,  I 
lost,  as  you  all  know.  He  drove  'em  to  Hillport. 
('Good  old  Jos!')  That's  not  all.  The  Mayor 
insisted  on  putting  his  own  ten  pounds  to  mine  and 
making  it  twenty.  Here  are  the  two  identical  notes, 
his  and  mine."  Mr.  Gordon  waved  the  identical 
notes  amid  an  uproar.  "  We've  decided  that  every- 
one who  has  dined  here  to-night  shall  receive  a 
brand-new  shilling.  I  see  Mr.  Septimus  Lovatt 
from  the  bank  there  with  a  bag.  He  will  attend  to 
you  as  you  go  out.  (Wild  outbreak  and  tumult  of 
rapturous  applause.)  And  now  three  cheers  for 
your  Mayor  —  and  Mayoress!  " 

It  was  colossal,  the  enthusiasm. 

"  And  for  Gas  Gordon !  "  called  several  voices. 

The  cheers  rose  again  in  surging  waves. 

Everyone  remarked  that  the  Mayor,  usually  so 
imperturbable,  was  quite  overcome  —  seemed  as  if 
he  didn't  know  where  to  look. 

Afterwards,  as  the  occupants  of  the  platform 
descended,  Mr.  Gordon  glanced  into  the  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Curtenty,  and  found  there  his  exceeding  re- 
ward. The  mediocrity  had  blossomed  out  that  eve- 
ning into  something  new  and  strange.  Liar,  delib- 


THE  GOOSEDKIVER  323 

erate  liar  and  self-accused  gambler  as  he  was,  he 
felt  that  he  had  lived  during  that  speech ;  he  felt  that 
it  was  the  supreme  moment  of  his  life. 

"  What  a  perfectly  wonderful  man  your  husband 
is!  "  said  Mrs.  Duncalf  to  Mrs.  Curtenty. 

Clara  turned  to  her  husband  with  a  sublime  ges- 
ture of  satisfaction.  In  the  brougham,  going  home, 
she  bewitched  him  with  wifely  endearments.  She 
could  afford  to  do  so.  The  stigma  of  the  geese 
episode  was  erased. 

But  the  barmaid  of  the  Tiger,  as  she  let  down 
her  bright  hair  that  night  in  the  attic  of  the  Tiger, 
said  to  herself,  "  Well,  of  all  the "  Just  that. 


THE  IDIOT 

WILLIAM  FROYLE,  ostler  at  the  Queen's 
Arms  at  Moorthorne,  took  the  letter, 
and,  with  a  curt  nod  which  stifled  the 
loquacity  of  the  village  postman,  went  at  once  from 
the  yard  into  the  coach-house.  He  had  recognised 
the  hand-writing  on  the  envelope,  and  the  recogni- 
tion of  it  gave  form  and  quick  life  to  all  the  vague 
suspicions  that  had  troubled  him  some  months  be- 
fore, and  again  during  the  last  few  days.  He  felt 
suddenly  the  near  approach  of  a  frightful  calamity 
which  had  long  been  stealing  towards  him. 

A  wire-sheathed  lantern,  set  on  a  rough  oaken 
table,  cast  a  wavering  light  round  the  coach-house, 
and  dimly  showed  the  inner  stable.  Within  the 
latter  could  just  be  distinguished  the  mottled-grey 
flanks  of  a  fat  cob  which  dragged  its  chain  occasion- 
ally, making  the  large  slow  movements  of  a  horse 
comfortably  lodged  in  its  stall.  The  pleasant  odour 
of  animals  and  hay  filled  the  wide  spaces  of  the 
shed,  and  through  the  half-open  door  came  a  fresh 
thin  mist  rising  from  the  rain-soaked  yard  in  the 
November  evening. 

Froyle  sat  down  on  the  oaken  table,  his  legs 
dangling,  and  looked  again  at  the  envelope  before 

324 


THE  IDIOT  325 

opening  it.  He  was  a  man  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  with  a  serious  and  thoughtful,  rather  heavy 
countenance.  He  had  a  long  light  moustache,  and 
his  skin  was  a  fresh,  rosy  salmon  colour;  his  straw- 
tinted  hair  was  cut  very  short,  except  over  the  fore- 
head, where  it  grew  full  and  bushy.  Dressed  in  his 
rough  stable  corduroys,  his  forearms  bare  and  white, 
he  had  all  the  appearance  of  the  sturdy  Englishman, 
the  sort  of  Englishman  that  crosses  the  world  in  order 
to  find  vent  for  his  taciturn  energy  on  virgin  soils. 
From  the  whole  village  he  commanded  and  received 
respect.  He  was  known  for  a  scholar,  and  it  was  his 
scholarship  which  had  obtained  for  him  the  proud 
position  of  secretary  to  the  provident  society  styled 
the  Queen's  Arms  Slate  Club.  His  respectability  and 
his  learning  combined  had  enabled  him  to  win  with 
dignity  the  hand  of  Susie  Trimmer,  the  grocer's 
daughter,  to  whom  he  had  been  engaged  about  a 
year.  The  village  could  not  make  up  its  mind  con- 
cerning that  match;  without  doubt  it  was  a  social 
victory  for  Froyle,  but  everyone  wondered  that  so 
sedate  and  sagacious  a  man  should  have  seen  in 
Susie  a  suitable  mate. 

He  tore  open  the  envelope  with  his  huge  fore- 
finger, and,  bending  down  towards  the  lantern,  be- 
gan to  read  the  letter.  It  ran: 


"  OLDCASTLE  STREET,  BURSLEY. 
"  Dear 


"  I  asked  father  to  tell  you,  but  he  would  not. 
He  said  I  must  write.     Dear  Will,  I  hope  you  will 


326     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

never  see  me  again.  As  you  will  see  by  the  above 
address,  I  am  now  at  Aunt  Penrose's  at  Bursley. 
She  is  awful  angry,  but  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
village  because  of  my  shame.  I  have  been  a 
wicked  girl.  It  was  in  July.  You  know  the  man, 
because  you  asked  me  about  him  one  Sunday  night. 
He  is  no  good.  He  is  a  villain.  Please  forget  all 
about  me.  I  want  to  go  to  London.  So  many 
people  know  me  here,  and  what  with  people  coming 
in  from  the  village,  too.  Please  forgive  me. 

"  S.  TRIMMER." 

After  reading  the  letter  a  second  time,  Froyle 
folded  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Beyond  a 
slight  unaccustomed  pallor  of  the  red  cheeks,  he 
showed  no  sign  of  emotion.  Before  the  arrival  of 
the  postman  he  had  been  cleaning  his  master's 
bicycle,  which  stood  against  the  table.  To  this  he 
returned.  Kneeling  down  in  some  fresh  straw,  he 
used  his  dusters  slowly  and  patiently  —  rubbing, 
then  stopping  to  examine  the  result,  and  then  rub- 
bing again.  When  the  machine  was  polished  to 
his  satisfaction,  he  wheeled  it  carefully  into  the 
stable,  where  it  occupied  a  stall  next  to  that  of  the 
cob.  As  he  passed  back  again,  the  animal  leisurely 
turned  his  head  and  gazed  at  Froyle  with  its  large 
liquid  eyes.  He  slapped  the  immense  flank.  Con- 
tent, the  animal  returned  to  its  feed,  and  the 
weighted  chain  ran  down  with  a  rattle. 

The  fortnightly  meeting  of  the  Slate  Club  was  to 
take  place  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening.  Froyle  had 


THE  IDIOT  327 

employed  part  of  the  afternoon  in  making  ready  his 
books  for  the  event,  to  him  always  so  solemn  and 
ceremonious;  and  the  affairs  of  the  club  were  now 
prominent  in  his  mind.  He  was  sorry  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  attend  the  meeting;  for- 
tunately, all  the  usual  preliminaries  were  complete. 

He  took  a  piece  of  notepaper  from  a  little  hang- 
ing cupboard,  and,  sprawling  across  the  table,  began 
to  write  under  the  lantern.  The  pencil  seemed  a 
tiny  toy  in  his  thick  roughened  fingers : 

''  To  Mr.  Andrew  McCall,  Chairman  Queen's 

Arms  Slate  Club. 

"  DEAR  SIR:  I  regret  to  inform  you  that  I  shall 
not  be  at  the  meeting  to-night.  You  will  find  the 
books  in  order  .  .  ." 

Here  he  stopped,  biting  the  end  of  the  pencil 
in  thought.  He  put  down  the  pencil  and  stepped 
hastily  out  of  the  stable,  across  the  yard,  and  into 
the  hotel.  In  the  large  room,  the  room  where 
cyclists  sometimes  took  tea  and  cold  meat  during 
the  summer  season,  the  long  deal  table  and  the 
double  line  of  oaken  chairs  stood  ready  for  the 
meeting.  A  fire  burnt  warmly  in  the  big  grate,  and 
the  hanging  lamp  had  been  lighted.  On  the  wall 
was  a  large  card  containing  the  rules  of  the  club, 
which  had  been  written  out  in  a  fair  hand  by  the 
schoolmaster.  It  was  to  this  card  that  Froyle  went. 
Passing  his  thumb  down  the  card,  he  paused  at 
Rule  VII.: 


328     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Each  member  shall,  on  the  death  of  another 
member,  pay  is.  for  benefit  of  widow  or  nominee 
of  deceased,  same  to  be  paid  within  one  month  after 
notice  given." 

"  Or  nominee  —  nominee,"  he  murmured  reflect- 
ively, staring  at  the  card.  He  mechanically  noticed, 
what  he  had  noticed  often  before  with  disdain,  that 
the  chairman  had  signed  the  rules  without  the  use 
of  capitals. 

He  went  back  to  the  dusk  of  the  coach-house  to 
finish  his  letter,  still  murmuring  the  word  "  nomi- 
nee," of  whose  meaning  he  was  not  quite  sure : 

"  I  request  that  the  money  due  to  me  from  the 
Slate  Club  on  my  death  shall  be  paid  to  my  nomi- 
nee, Miss  Susan  Trimmer,  now  staying  with  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Penrose,  at  Bursley. 

"  Yours  respectfully, 

"  WILLIAM  FROYLE." 

After  further  consideration  he  added: 

"  P.  S. —  My  annual  salary  of  sixpence  per  mem- 
ber would  be  due  at  the  end  of  December.  If  so 
be  the  members  would  pay  that,  or  part  of  it,  should 
they  consider  the  same  due,  to  Susan  Trimmer  as 
well,  I  should  be  thankful. —  Yours  rcsp.,  W.  F." 

He  put  the  letter  in  an  envelope,  and,  taking  it 
to  the  large  room,  laid  it  carefully  at  the  end  of  the 


THE  IDIOT  329 

table  opposite  the  chairman's  seat.  Once  more  he 
returned  to  the  coach-house.  From  the  hanging 
cupboard  he  now  produced  a  piece  of  rope.  Stand- 
ing on  the  table  he  could  just  reach,  by  leaning  for- 
ward, a  hook  in  the  ceiling,  that  was  sometimes  used 
for  the  slinging  of  bicycles.  With  difficulty  he  made 
the  rope  fast  to  the  hook.  Putting  a  noose  on  the 
other  end,  he  tightened  it  round  his  neck.  He 
looked  up  at  the  ceiling  and  down  at  the  floor  in 
order  to  judge  whether  the  rope  was  short  enough. 

"  Good-bye,  Susan,  and  everyone,"  he  whispered, 
and  then  stepped  off  the  table. 

The  tense  rope  swung  him  by  his  neck  half-way 
across  the  coach-house.  He  swung  twice  to  and 
fro,  but  as  he  passed  under  the  hook  for  the  fifth 
time  his  shoes  touched  the  floor.  The  rope  had 
stretched.  In  another  second  he  was  standing  firm 
on  the  floor,  purple  and  panting,  but  ignominiously 
alive. 

"  Good-even  to  you,  Mr.  Froyle.  Be  you  com- 
mitting suicide?"  The  tones  were  drawling,  un- 
certain, mildly  astonished. 

He  turned  round  hastily,  his  hands  busy  with  the 
rope,  and  saw  in  the  doorway  the  figure  of  Daft 
Jimmy,  the  Moorthorne  idiot. 

He  hesitated  before  speaking,  but  he  was  not 
confused.  No  one  could  have  been  confused  before 
Daft  Jimmy.  Neither  man  nor  woman  in  the  vil- 
lage considered  his  presence  more  than  that  of  a 
cat. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  he  said. 


330     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  middle-aged  idiot  regarded  him  with  a  vague, 
interested  smile,  and  came  into  the  coach-house. 

"  You'n  gotten  the  rope  too  long,  Mr.  Froyle. 
Let  me  help  you." 

Froyle  calmly  assented.  He  stood  on  the  table, 
and  the  two  rearranged  the  noose  and  made  it  se- 
cure. As  they  did  so  the  idiot  gossiped: 

"  I  was  going  to  Bursley  to-night  to  buy  me  a 
pair  o'  boots,  and  when  I  was  at  top  o'  th'  hill  I 
remembered  as  I'd  forgotten  the  measure  o'  my 
feet.  So  I  ran  back  again  for  it.  Then  I  saw  the 
light  in  here,  and  I  stepped  up  to  bid  ye  good- 
evening." 

Someone  had  told  him  the  ancient  story  of  the 
fool  and  his  boots,  and,  with  the  pride  of  an  idiot 
in  his  idiocy,  he  had  determined  that  it  should  be 
related  of  himself. 

Froyle  was  silent. 

The  idiot  laughed  with  a  dry  cackle. 

"  Now  you  go,"  said  Froyle,  when  the  rope  was 
fixed. 

"  Let  me  see  ye  do  it,"  the  idiot  pleaded  with 
pathetic  eyes. 

"  No;  out  you  get!  " 

Protesting,  the  idiot  went  forth,  and  his  irregular 
clumsy  footsteps  sounded  on  the  pebble-paved  yard. 
When  the  noise  of  them  ceased  in  the  soft  roadway, 
Froyle  jumped  off  the  table  again.  Gradually  his 
body,  like  a  stopping  pendulum,  came  to  rest  under 
the  hook,  and  hung  twitching,  with  strange  discon- 
nected movements.  The  horse  in  the  stable,  hear- 


THE  IDIOT  331 

ing    unaccustomed    noises,    rattled    his    chain    and 
stamped  about  in  the  straw  of  his  box. 

Furtive  steps  came  down  the  yard  again,  and 
Daft  Jimmy  peeped  into  the  coach-house. 

"  He  done  it !  he  done  it !  "  the  idiot  cried  glee- 
fully. "  Damned  if  he  hasna'."  He  slapped  his 
leg  and  almost  danced.  The  body  still  twitched  oc- 
casionally. "He  done  it!" 

"Done  what,  Daft  Jimmy?  You're  making  a 
fine  noise  there!  Done  what?  " 

The  idiot  ran  out  of  the  stable.  At  the  side- 
entrance  to  the  hotel  stood  the  barmaid,  the  outline 
of  her  fine  figure  distinct  against  the  light  from 
within. 

The  idiot  continued  to  laugh. 

"Done  what?"  the  girl  repeated,  calling  out 
across  the  dark  yard  in  clear,  pleasant  tones  of 
amused  inquiry.  "  Done  what?  " 

"  What's  that  to  you,  Miss  Tucker?  " 

"  Now,  none  of  your  sauce,  Daft  Jimmy !  Is 
Willie  Froyle  in  there?" 

The  idiot  roared  with  laughter. 
'  Yes,  he  is,  miss." 

;'  Well,  tell  him  his  master  wants  him.  I  don't 
want  to  cross  this  mucky,  messy  yard." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

The  girl  closed  the  door. 

The  idiot  went  into  the  coach-house,  and,  slap- 
ping William's  body  in  a  friendly  way  so  that  it 
trembled  on  the  rope,  he  spluttered  out  between  his 
laughs : 


332     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Master  wants  ye,  Mr.  Froyle." 

Then  he  walked  out  into  the  village  street,  and 
stood  looking  up  the  muddy  road,  still  laughing 
quietly.  It  was  quite  dark,  but  the  moon  aloft  in 
the  clear  sky  showed  the  highway  with  its  shining 
ruts  leading  in  a  straight  line  over  the  hill  to 
Bursley. 

"Them  shoes  1"  the  idiot  ejaculated  suddenly. 
"  Well,  I  be  an  idiot,  and  that's  true !  They  can 
take  the  measure  from  my  feet,  and  I  never  thought 
on  it  till  this  minute  1  " 

Laughing  again,  he  set  off  at  a  run  up  the  hill. 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC 


IN  the  daily  strenuous  life  of  a  great  hotel  there 
are  periods  during  which  its  bewildering  activi- 
ties slacken,  and  the  vast  organism  seems  to  be 
under  the  influence  of  an  opiate.  Such  a  period  re- 
curs after  dinner  when  the  guests  are  preoccupied  by 
the  mysterious  processes  of  digestion  in  the  draw- 
ing-rooms or  smoking-rooms  or  in  the  stalls  of  a 
theatre.  On  the  evening  of  this  nocturne  the  well- 
known  circular  entrance-hall  of  the  Majestic,  with 
its  tessellated  pavement,  its  malachite  pillars,  its 
Persian  rugs,  its  lounges,  and  its  renowned  stuffed 
bears  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  stairway,  was  for  the 
moment  deserted,  save  by  the  head  hall-porter  and 
the  head  night-porter  and  the  girl  in  the  bureau. 
It  was  a  quarter  to  nine,  and  the  head  hall-porter 
was  abdicating  his  pagoda  to  the  head  night-porter, 
and  telling  him  the  necessary  secrets  of  the  day. 
These  two  lords,  before  whom  the  motley  pano- 
rama of  human  existence  was  continually  being  en- 
rolled, held  a  portentous  confabulation  night  and 
morning.  They  had  no  illusions;  they  knew  life. 
Shakespeare  himself  might  have  listened  to  them 
with  advantage. 

333 


334   MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

The  girl  in  the  bureau,  like  a  beautiful  and 
languishing  animal  in  its  cage,  leaned  against  her 
window,  and  looked  between  two  pillars  at  the  mag- 
nificent lords.  She  was  too  far  off  to  catch  their 
talk,  and,  indeed,  she  watched  them  absently  in  a 
reverie  induced  by  the  sweet  melancholy  of  the  sum- 
mer twilight,  by  the  torpidity  of  the  hour,  and  by 
the  prospect  of  the  next  day,  which  was  her  day 
off.  The  liveried  functionaries  ignored  her,  prob- 
ably scorned  her  as  a  mere  pretty  little  morsel. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  the  centre  of  energy,  not  they. 
If  money  were  payable,  she  was  the  person  to  re- 
ceive it;  if  a  customer  wanted  a  room,  she  would 
choose  it;  and  the  lords  had  to  call  her  "miss." 
The  immense  and  splendid  hotel  pulsed  round  this 
simple  heart  hidden  under  a  white  blouse.  Espe- 
cially in  summer,  her  presence  and  the  presence  of 
her  companions  in  the  bureau  (but  to-night  she  was 
alone)  ministered  to  the  satisfaction  of  male  guests, 
whose  cruel  but  profoundly  human  instincts  found 
pleasure  in  the  fact  that,  no  matter  when  they  came 
in  from  their  wanderings,  the  pretty  captives  were 
always  there  in  the  bureau,  smiling  welcome,  puz- 
zling stupid  little  brains  and  puckering  pale  brows 
over  enormous  ledgers,  twittering  borrowed  face- 
tiousness  from  rosy  mouths,  and  smoothing  out  se- 
ductive toilettes  with  long  thin  hands  that  were 
made  for  ring  and  bracelet  and  rudder-lines,  and 
not  a  bit  for  the  pen  and  the  ruler. 

The  pretty  little  thing  despised  of  the  function- 
aries corresponded  almost  exactly  in  appearance  to 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    335 

the  typical  bureau  girl.  She  was  moderately  tall; 
she  had  a  good  slim  figure,  all  pleasant  curves,  flaxen 
hair  and  plenty  of  it,  and  a  dainty,  rather  expression- 
less face;  the  ears  and  mouth  were  very  small,  the 
eyes  large  and  blue,  the  nose  so-so,  the  cheeks  and 
forehead  of  an  equal  ivory  pallor,  the  chin  trifling, 
with  a  crease  under  the  lower  lip  and  a  rich  con- 
vexity springing  out  from  below  the  crease.  The 
extremities  of  the  full  lips  were  nearly  always  drawn 
up  in  a  smile,  mechanical,  but  infallibly  attractive. 
The  hair  was  of  an  orthodox  frizziness.  You 
would  have  said  she  was  a  nice,  kind,  good-natured 
girl,  flirtatious  but  correct,  well  adapted  to  adorn  a 
dogcart  on  Sundays. 

This  was  Nina,  foolish  Nina,  aged  twenty-one. 
In  her  reverie  the  entire  Hotel  Majestic  weighed  on 
her;  she  had  a  more  than  adequate  sense  of  her 
own  solitary  importance  in  the  bureau,  and  stirring 
obscurely  beneath  that  consciousness  were  the  deep 
ineradicable  longings  of  a  poor  pretty  girl  for  heaps 
of  money,  endless  luxury  of  finery  and  chocolates, 
and  sentimental  silken  dalliance. 

Suddenly  a  stranger  entered  the  hall.  His  ad- 
vent seemed  to  wake  the  place  out  of  the  trance  into 
which  it  had  fallen.  The  nocturne  had  begun. 
Nina  straightened  herself  and  intensified  her  eternal 
smile.  The  two  porters  became  military,  and 
smiled  with  a  special  and  peculiar  urbanity.  Several 
lesser  but  still  lordly  functionaries  appeared  among 
the  pillars;  a  page-boy  emerged  by  magic  from  the 
region  of  the  chimney-piece  like  Mephistopheles  in 


336     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Faust's  study;  and  some  guests  of  both  sexes  strolled 
chattering  across  the  tessellated  pavement  as  they 
passed  from  one  wing  of  the  hotel  to  the  other. 

"How  do,  Tom?"  said  the  stranger,  grasping 
the  hand  of  the  head  hall-porter,  and  nodding  to 
the  head  night-porter. 

His  voice  showed  that  he  was  an  American,  and 
his  demeanour  that  he  was  one  of  those  experienced, 
wealthy,  and  kindly  travellers  who  know  the  Chris- 
tian names  of  all  the  hall-porters  in  the  world,  and 
have  the  trick  of  securing  their  intimacy  and  fealty. 
He  wore  a  blue  suit  and  a  light  grey  wideawake,  and 
his  fine  moustache  was  grizzled.  In  his  left  hand 
he  carried  a  brown  bag. 

"  Nicely,  thank  you,  sir,"  Tom  replied.  "  How 
are  you,  sir?  " 

"  Oh,  about  six  and  six." 

Whereupon  both  porters  laughed  heartily. 

Tom  escorted  him  to  the  bureau,  and  tried  to 
relieve  him  of  his  bag.  Inferior  lords  escorted 
Tom. 

"  I  guess  I'll  keep  the  grip,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Mr.  Pank  will  be  around  with  some  more  baggage 
pretty  soon.  We've  expressed  the  rest  on  to  the 
steamer.  Well,  my  dear,"  he  went  on,  turning  to 
Nina,  "  you're  a  fresh  face  here." 

He  looked  her  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  said,  conquered  instantly. 

Radiant  and  triumphant,  the  man  brought  good- 
humour  into  every  face,  like  some  wonderful  com- 
bination of  the  sun  and  the  sea-breeze. 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    337 

"  Give  me  two  bedrooms  and  a  parlour,  please," 
he  commanded. 

"  First  floor?  "  asked  Nina  prettily. 

"  First  floor !  Well  —  I  should  say !  And  on 
the  Strand,  my  dear." 

She  bent  over  her  ledgers,  blushing. 

"  Send  someone  to  the  'phone,  Tom,  and  let  'em 
put  me  on  to  the  Regency,  will  you  ?  "  said  the 
stranger. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Samuels,  go  ring  up  the  Regency 
Theatre  —  quick !  " 

Swift  departure  of  a  lord. 

"  And  ask  Alphonse  to  come  up  to  my  bedroom 
in  ten  minutes  from  now,"  the  stranger  proceeded 
to  Tom.  "  I  shall  want  a  dandy  supper  for  four- 
teen at  a  quarter  after  eleven." 

"  Yes,  sir.     No  dinner,  sir?  " 

"  No;  we  dined  on  the  Pullman.  Well,  my  dear, 
figured  it  out  yet?  " 

"Numbers  102,  120,  and  107,"  said  Nina. 

"  Keys  102,  120,  and  107,"  said  Tom. 

Swift  departure  of  another  lord  to  the  pagoda. 

"  How  much?  "  demanded  the  stranger. 
'  The  bedrooms  are  twenty-five  shillings,  and  the 
sitting-room  two  guineas." 

"  I  guess  Mr.  Pank  won't  mind  that.  Hullo, 
Pank,  you're  here !  I'm  through.  Your  number's 
102  or  1 20,  which  you  fancy.  Just  going  to  the 
'phone  a  minute,  and  then  I'll  join  you  upstairs." 

Mr.  Pank  was  a  younger  man,  possessing  a  thin, 
astute,  intellectual  face.  He  walked  into  the  hall 


338     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

with  noticeable  deliberation.  His  travelling  cos- 
tume was  faultless,  but  from  beneath  his  straw  hat 
his  black  hair  sprouted  in  a  somewhat  peculiar 
fashion  over  his  broad  forehead.  He  smiled  lazily 
and  shrewdly,  and  without  a  word  disappeared 
into  a  lift.  Two  large  portmanteaus  accompanied 
him. 

Presently  the  elder  stranger  could  be  heard  bat- 
tling with  the  obstinate  idiosyncrasies  of  a  London 
telephone. 

"  You  haven't  registered,"  Nina  called  to  him  in 
her  tremulous,  delicate,  captivating  voice,  as  he 
came  out  of  the  telephone-box. 

He  advanced  to  sign,  and,  taking  a  pen  and  lean- 
ing on  the  front  of  the  bureau,  wrote  in  the  visitor's 
book,  in  a  careful,  legible  hand:  "  Lionel  Belmont, 
New  York."  Having  thus  written,  and  still  resting 
on  the  right  elbow,  he  raised  his  right  hand  a  little 
and  waved  the  pen  like  a  delicious  menace  at  Nina. 

"  Mr.  Pank  hasn't  registered,  either,"  he  said 
slowly,  with  a  charming  affectation  of  solemnity,  as 
though  accusing  Mr.  Pank  of  some  appalling  crime. 

Nina  laughed  timidly  as  she  pushed  his  room- 
ticket  across  the  page  of  the  big  book.  She  thought 
that  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont  was  perfectly  delightful. 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  she  said,  trying  also  to  be  arch; 
"  but  he  must." 

At  that  moment  she  happened  to  glance  at  the 
right  hand  of  Mr.  Belmont.  In  the  brilliance  of 
the  electric  light  she  could  see  the  fair  skin  of  the 
wrist  and  forearm  within  the  whiteness  of  his  shirt- 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    339 

sleeve.  She  stared  at  what  she  saw,  every  muscle 
tense. 

"  I  guess  you  can  round  up  Mr.  Pank  yourself, 
my  dear,  later  on,"  said  Lionel  Belmont,  and  turned 
quickly  away,  intertf  on  the  next  thing. 

He  did  not  notice  that  her  large  eyes  had  grown 
larger  and  her  pale  face  paler.  In  another  moment 
the  hall  was  deserted  again.  Mr.  Belmont  had 
ascended  in  the  lift,  Tom  had  gone  to  his  rest,  and 
the  head  night-porter  was  concealed  in  the  pagoda. 
Nina  sank  down  limply  on  her  stool,  her  nostrils 
twitching;  she  feared  she  was  about  to  faint,  but  this 
final  calamity  did  not  occur.  She  had,  nevertheless, 
experienced  the  greatest  shock  of  her  brief  life,  and 
the  way  of  it  was  thus. 

II 

Nina  Malpas  was  born  amid  the  embers  of  one 
of  those  fiery  conjugal  dramas  which  occur  with 
romantic  frequency  in  the  provincial  towns  of  the 
northern  Midlands,  where  industrial  conditions  are 
such  as  to  foster  an  independent  spirit  among  women 
of  the  lower  class  generally,  and  where  by  long 
tradition  "  character  "  is  allowed  to  exploit  itself 
more  freely  than  in  the  southern  parts  of  our  island. 
Lemuel  Malpas  was  a  dashing  young  commercial 
traveller,  with  what  is  known  as  "  an  agreeable  ad- 
dress," in  Bursley,  one  of  the  Five  Towns,  Stafford- 
shire. On  the  strength  of  his  dash  he  wooed  and 
married  the  daughter  of  an  hotel-keeper  in  the 
neighbouring  town  of  Hanbridge.  Six  months  after 


340    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

the  wedding  —  in  other  words,  at  the  most  danger- 
ous period  of  the  connubial  career  —  Mrs.  Malpas's 
father  died,  and  Mrs.  Malpas  became  the  absolute 
mistress  of  eight  thousand  pounds.  Lemuel  *  had 
carefully  foreseen  this  windfall,  and  wished  to  use 
the  money  in  enterprises  of  the  earthenware  trade. 
Mrs.  Malpas,  pretty  and  vivacious,  with  a  self-con- 
ceit hardened  by  the  adulation  of  saloon-bars,  very 
decidedly  thought  otherwise.  Her  motto  was, 
"  What's  yours  is  mine,  but  what's  mine's  my  own." 
The  difference  was  accentuated.  Long  mutual  re- 
sistances were  followed  by  reconciliations,  which 
grew  more  and  more  transitory,  and  at  length  both 
recognised  that  the  union,  not  founded  on  genuine 
affection,  had  been  a  mistake. 

"  Keep  your  d d  brass !  "  Lemuel  exclaimed 

one  morning,  and  he  went  off  on  a  journey  and  for- 
got to  come  back.  A  curious  letter  dated  from 
Liverpool  wished  his  wife  happiness,  and  informed 
her  that,  since  she  was  well  provided  for,  he  had 
no  scruples  about  leaving  her.  Mrs.  Malpas  was 
startled  at  first,  but  she  soon  perceived  that  what 
Lemuel  had  done  was  exactly  what  the  brilliant  and 
enterprising  Lemuel  might  have  been  expected  to  do. 
She  jerked  up  her  doll's  head,  and  ejaculated,  "  So 
much  the  better !  " 

A  few  weeks  later  she  sold  the  furniture  and  took 
rooms  in  Scarborough,  where,  amid  pleasurable  sur- 
roundings, she  determined  to  lead  the  joyous  life  of 

*  This  name  is  pronounced  with  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable 
in  the  Five  Towns. 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    341 

a  grass-widow,  free  of  all  cares.  Then,  to  her  as- 
tonishment and  disgust,  Nina  was  born.  She  had  not 
bargained  for  Nina.  She  found  herself  in  the  tire- 
some position  of  a  mother  whose  explanations  of  her 
child  lack  plausibility.  One  lodging-house  keeper 
to  whom  she  hazarded  the  statement  that  Lemuel 
was  in  Australia  had  saucily  replied:  "  I  thought 
maybe  it  was  the  North  Pole  he  was  gone  to  1  " 

This  decided  Mrs.  Malpas.  She  returned  sud- 
denly to  the  Five  Towns,  where  at  least  her  reputa- 
tion was  secure.  Only  a  week  previously  Lemuel 
had  learnt  indirectly  that  she  had  left  their  native 
district.  He  determined  thenceforward  to  forget 
her  completely.  Mrs.  Malpas's  prettiness  was  of 
the  fleeting  sort.  After  Nina's  birth  she  began  to 
get  stout  and  coarse,  and  the  nostalgia  of  the  saloon- 
bar,  the  coffee-room,  and  the  sanded  portico  over- 
took her.  The  Tiger  at  Bursley  was  for  sale,  a 
respectable  commercial  hotel,  the  best  in  the  town. 
She  purchased  it,  wines,  omnibus  connection,  and 
all,  and  developed  into  the  typical  landlady  in  black 
silk  and  gold  rings. 

In  the  Tiger  Nina  was  brought  up.  She  was  a 
pretty  child  from  her  earliest  years,  and  received  the 
caresses  of  all  as  a  matter  of  course.  She  went  to 
a  good  school,  studied  the  piano,  and  learnt  dancing, 
and  at  sixteen  did  her  hair  up.  She  did  as  she  was 
told  without  fuss,  being  apparently  of  a  lethargic 
temperament;  she  had  all  the  money  and  all  the 
clothes  that  her  heart  could  desire;  she  was  happy, 
and  in  a  quiet  way  she  deemed  herself  a  rather  con- 


342     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

siderable  item  in  the  world.  When  she  was  eighteen 
her  mother  died  miserably  of  cancer,  and  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  liabilities  of  Mrs.  Malpas's  estate 
exceeded  its  assets  —  and  the  Tiger  mortgaged  up 
to  its  value!  The  creditors  were  not  angry;  they 
attributed  the  state  of  affairs  to  illness  and  the  ab- 
sence of  male  control,  and  good-humouredly  accepted 
what  they  could  get.  None  the  less,  Nina,  the  child 
of  luxury  and  sloth,  had  to  start  life  with  several 
hundreds  of  pounds  less  than  nothing.  Of  her 
father  all  trace  had  been  long  since  lost.  A  place 
was  found  for  her,  and  for  over  two  years  she  saw 
the  world  from  the  office  of  a  famous  hotel  in  Don- 
caster.  Her  lethargy,  and  an  invaluable  gift  of 
adapting  herself  to  circumstances,  saved  her  from 
any  acute  unhappiness  in  the  Yorkshire  town.  In- 
stinctively she  ceased  to  remember  the  Tiger  and 
past  splendours.  (Equally,  if  she  had  married  a 
Duke  instead  of  becoming  a  book-keeper,  she  would 
have  ceased  to  remember  the  Tiger  and  past  humil- 
ity.) Then  by  good  or  ill  fortune  she  had  the  offer 
of  a  situation  at  the  Hotel  Majestic,  Strand,  Lon- 
don. The  Majestic  and  the  sights  thereof  woke  up 
the  sleeping  soul. 

Before  her  death  Mrs.  Malpas  had  told  Nina 
many  things  about  the  vanished  Lemuel;  among 
others,  the  curious  detail  that  he  had  two  small 
moles  —  one  hairless,  the  other  hirsute  —  close  to- 
gether on  the  under  side  of  his  right  wrist.  Nina 
had  seen  precisely  such  marks  of  identification  on 
the  right  wrist  of  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont. 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    343 

She  was  convinced  that  Lionel  Belmont  was  her 
father.  There  could  not  be  two  men  in  the  world 
so  stamped  by  nature.  She  perceived  that  in  chang- 
ing his  name  he  had  chosen  Lionel  because  of  its 
similarity  to  Lemuel.  She  felt  certain,  too,  that  she 
had  noticed  vestiges  of  the  Five  Towns  accent  be- 
neath his  Americanisms.  But  apart  from  these  rea- 
sons, she  knew  by  a  superrational  instinct  that  Lionel 
Belmont  was  her  father;  it  was  not  the  call  of  blood, 
but  the  positiveness  of  a  woman  asserting  that  a 
thing  is  so  because  she  is  sure  it  is  so. 

ill 

Nina  was  not  of  an  imaginative  disposition.  The 
romance  of  this  extraordinary  encounter  made  no  ap- 
peal to  her.  She  was  the  sort  of  girl  that  constantly 
reads  novelettes,  and  yet  always,  with  fatigued  scorn, 
refers  to  them  as  "  silly."  Stupid  little  Nina  was 
intensely  practical  at  heart,  and  it  was  the  practical 
side  of  her  father's  reappearance  that  engaged  her 
birdlike  mind.  She  did  not  stop  to  reflect  that 
truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.  Her  tiny  heart  was 
not  agitated  by  any  ecstatic  ponderings  upon  the 
wonder  and  mystery  of  fate.  She  did  not  feel 
strangely  drawn  towards  Lionel  Belmont,  nor  did 
she  feel  that  he  supplied  a  something  which  had 
always  been  wanting  to  her. 

On  the  other  hand,  her  pride  —  and  Nina  was 
very  proud  —  found  much  satisfaction  in  the  fact 
that  her  father,  having  turned  up,  was  so  fine,  hand- 
some, dashing,  good-humoured,  and  wealthy.  It 


344    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

was  well,  and  excellently  well,  and  delicious,  to  have 
a  father  like  that.  The  possession  of  such  a  father 
opened  up  vistas  of  a  future  so  enticing  and  glorious 
that  her  present  career  became  instantly  loathsome  to 
her. 

It  suddenly  seemed  impossible  that  she  could  have 
tolerated  the  existence  of  a  hotel  clerk  for  a  single 
week.  Her  eyes  were  opened,  and  she  saw,  as  many 
women  have  seen,  that  luxury  was  an  absolute  neces- 
sity to  her.  All  her  ideas  soared  with  the  magic 
swiftness  of  the  beanstalk.  And  at  the  same  time 
she  was  terribly  afraid,  unaccountably  afraid,  to  con- 
front Mr.  Belmont  and  tell  him  that  she  was  his 
Nina;  he  was  entirely  unaware  that  he  had  a  Nina. 
"  I'm  your  daughter!  I  know  by  your  moles!  " 
She  whispered  the  words  in  her  tiny  heart,  and 
felt  sure  that  she  could  never  find  courage  to  say 
them  aloud  to  that  great  and  important  man.  The 
announcement  would  be  too  monstrous,  incredible, 
and  absurd.  People  would  laugh.  He  would 
laugh.  And  Nina  could  stand  anything  better  than 
being  laughed  at.  Even  supposing  she  proved  to 
him  his  paternity  —  she  thought  of  the  horridness 
of  going  to  lawyers'  offices  —  he  might  decline  to 
recognise  her.  Or  he  might  throw  her  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  as  one  throws  sixpence  to  an  importunate 
crossing-sweeper,  to  be  rid  of  her.  The  United 
States  existed  in  her  mind  chiefly  as  a  country  of 
highly-remarkable  divorce  laws,  and  she  thought  that 
Mr.  Belmont  might  have  married  again.  A  fashion- 
able and  arrogant  Mrs.  Belmont,  and  a  dazzling 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    345 

Miss  Belmont,  aged  possibly  eighteen,  might  arrive, 
both  of  them  steeped  in  all  conceivable  luxury,  at  any 
moment.  Where  would  Nina  be  then,  with 
her  two-and-eleven-pence-halfpenny  blouse  from 
Glave's? 

Mr.  Belmont,  accompanied  by  Alphonse,  the 
head-waiter  in  the  salle  a  manger,  descended  in  the 
lift  and  crossed  the  hall  to  the  portico,  where  he 
stood  talking  for  a  few  seconds.  Mr.  Belmont 
turned,  and,  as  he  conversed  with  Alphonse,  gazed 
absently  in  the  direction  of  the  bureau.  He  looked 
straight  through  the  pretty  captive.  After  all,  de- 
spite his  superficial  heartiness,  she  could  be  nothing 
to  him  —  so  rich,  assertive,  and  truly  important.  A 
hansom  was  called  for  him,  and  he  departed;  she 
observed  that  he  was  in  evening  dress  now. 

No !  Her  cause  was  just;  but  it  was  too  startling 
—  that  was  what  was  the  matter  with  it. 

Then  she  told  herself  she  would  write  to  Lionel 
Belmont.  She  would  write  a  letter  that  night. 

At  nine-thirty  she  was  off  duty.  She  went  upstairs 
to  her  perch  in  the  roof,  and  sat  on  her  bed  for 
over  two  hours.  Then  she  came  down  again  to  the 
bureau  with  some  bluish  note-paper  and  envelopes  in 
her  hand,  and,  in  response  to  the  surprised  question 
of  the  pink-frocked  colleague  who  had  taken  her 
place,  she  explained  that  she  wanted  to  write  a 
letter. 

"  You  do  look  that  bad,  Miss  Malpas,"  said  the 
other  girl,  who  made  a  speciality  of  compassion. 

"Do  I?"  said  Nina. 


346     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

'  Yes,  you  do.  What  have  you  got  on,  now,  my 
poor  dear?  " 

"What's  that  to  you?  I'll  thank  you  to  mind 
your  own  business,  Miss  Bella  Perkins." 

Usually  Nina  was  not  soon  ruffled;  but  that  night 
all  her  nerves  were  exasperated  and  exceedingly 
sensitive. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  girl.  "  What  price  the  Duchess 
of  Doncaster?  And  I  was  just  going  to  wish  you 
a  nice  day  to-morrow  for  your  holiday,  too." 

Nina  seated  herself  at  the  table  to  write  the  let- 
ter. An  electric  light  burned  directly  over  her 
frizzy  head.  She  wrote  a  weak  but  legible  and  regu- 
lar back-hand.  She  hated  writing  letters,  partly  be- 
cause she  was  dubious  about  her  spelling,  and  partly 
because  of  an  obscure  but  irrepressible  suspicion  that 
letters  were  of  necessity  silly.  She  pondered  for  a 
long  time,  and  then  wrote :  "  Dear  Mr.  Belmont, 

—  I  venture "  She  made  a  new  start: 

"  Dear  Sir, —  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me " 

And  a  third  attempt:  "My  dear  Father " 

No !  it  was  preposterous.  It  could  no  more  be  writ- 
ten than  it  could  be  said. 

The  situation  was  too  much  for  simple  Nina. 

Suddenly  the  grand  circular  hall  of  the  Majestic 
was  filled  with  a  clamour  at  once  charming  and  fan- 
tastic. There  was  chattering  of  musical,  gay  Ameri- 
can voices,  pattering  of  elegant  feet  on  the  tessel- 
lated pavement,  the  unique  incomparable  sound  of 
the  frou-frou  of  many  frocks;  and  above  all  this  the 
rich  tones  of  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont.  Nina  looked  up 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    347 

and  saw  her  radiant  father  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  girls  all  young,  all  beautiful,  all  stylish,  all  with 
picture  hats,  all  self-possessed,  all  sparkling,  doubt- 
less the  recipients  of  the  dandy  supper. 

Oh,  how  insignificant  and  homicidal  Nina  felt ! 

"  Thirteen  of  you !  "  exclaimed  Lionel  Belmont, 
pulling  his  superb  moustache.  "  Two  to  a  hansom. 
I  guess  I'll  want  six  and  a  half  hansoms,  boy." 

There  was  an  explosion  of  delicious  laughter,  and 
the  page-boy  grinned,  ran  off,  and  began  whistling 
in  the  portico  like  a  vexed  locomotive.  The  thirteen 
fair,  shepherded  by  Lionel  Belmont,  passed  out  into 
the  murmurous  summer  night  of  the  Strand.  Cab 
after  cab  drove  up,  and  Nina  saw  that  her  father, 
after  filling  each  cab,  paid  each  cabman.  In  three 
minutes  the  dream-like  scene  was  over.  Mr.  Bel- 
mont re-entered  the  hotel,  winked  humorously  at  the 
occupant  of  the  pagoda,  ignored  the  bureau,  and  de- 
parted to  his  rooms. 

Nina  ripped  her  inchoate  letters  into  small  pieces, 
and,  with  a  tart  good-night  to  Miss  Bella  Perkins, 
who  was  closing  her  ledgers,  the  hour  being  close 
upon  twelve-thirty,  she  passed  sedately,  stiffly,  as 
though  in  performance  of  some  vestal's  ritual,  up 
the  grand  staircase.  Turning  to  the  right  at  the 
first  landing,  she  traversed  a  long  corridor  which 
was  no  part  of  the  route  to  her  cubicle  on  the  ninth 
floor.  This  corridor  was  lighted  by  glowing  sparks, 
which  hung  on  yellow  cords  from  the  central  line 
of  the  ceiling;  underfoot  was  a  heavy  but  narrow 
crimson  patterned  carpet  with  a  strip  of  polished  oak 


348    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

parquet  on  either  side  of  it.  Exactly  along  the  cen- 
tral line  of  the  carpet  Nina  tripped,  languorously, 
like  an  automaton,  and  exactly  over  her  head  glit- 
tered the  line  of  electric  sparks.  The  corridor  and 
the  journey  seemed  to  be  interminable,  and  Nina  on 
some  inscrutable  and  mystic  errand.  At  length  she 
moved  aside  from  the  religious  line,  went  into  a 
service  cabinet,  and  emerged  with  a  small  bunch  of 
pass-keys.  No.  107  was  Lionel  Belmont's  sitting- 
room;  No.  102,  his  bedroom,  was  opposite  to  107. 
No.  1 08,  another  sitting-room,  was,  as  Nina  knew, 
unoccupied.  She  noiselessly  let  herself  into  No.  108, 
closed  the  door,  and  stood  still.  After  a  minute  she 
switched  on  the  light.  These  two  rooms,  Nos.  108 
and  107,  had  once  communicated,  but,  as  space  grew 
precious  with  the  growing  success  of  the  Majestic, 
they  had  been  finally  separated,  and  the  door  be- 
tween them  locked  and  masked  by  furniture.  By 
reason  of  the  door,  Nina  could  hear  Lionel  Belmont 
moving  to  and  fro  in  No.  107.  She  listened  a  long 
time.  Then,  involuntarily,  she  yawned  with  fatigue. 

"  How  silly  of  me  to  be  here  1  "  she  thought. 
"  What  good  will  this  do  me?  " 

She  extinguished  the  light  and  opened  the  door 
to  leave.  At  the  same  instant  the  door  of  No.  107, 
three  feet  off,  opened.  She  drew  back  with  a  start 
of  horror.  Suppose  she  had  collided  with  her 
father  on  the  landing !  Timorously  she  peeped  out, 
and  saw  Lionel  Belmont,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  disap- 
pear round  the  corner. 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    349 

"  He  is  going  to  talk  with  his  friend  Mr.  Pank," 
Nina  thought,  knowing  that  No.  120  lay  at  some 
little  distance  round  that  corner. 

Mr.  Belmont  had  left  the  door  of  No.  107  slightly 
ajar.  An  unseen  and  terrifying  force  impelled  Nina 
to  venture  into  the  corridor,  and  then  to  push  the 
door  of  No.  107  wide  open.  The  same  force,  not 
at  all  herself,  quite  beyond  herself,  seemed  to  impel 
her  by  the  shoulders  into  the  room.  As  she  stood 
unmistakably  within  her  father's  private  sitting- 
room,  scared,  breathing  rapidly,  inquisitive,  she  said 
to  herself: 

"  I  shall  hear  him  coming  back,  and  I  can  run  out 
before  he  turns  the  corner  of  the  corridor."  And 
she  kept  her  little  pink  ears  alert. 

She  looked  about  the  softly  brilliant  room,  such 
an  extravagant  triumph  of  luxurious  comfort  as 
twenty  years  ago  would  have  aroused  comment  even 
in  May  fair;  but  there  were  scores  of  similar  rooms 
in  the  Majestic.  No  one  thought  twice  of  them. 
Her  father's  dress-coat  was  thrown  arrogantly  over 
a  Louis  Quatorze  chair,  and  this  careless  flinging  of 
the  expensive  shining  coat  across  the  gilded  chair 
somehow  gave  Nina  a  more  intimate  appreciation  of 
her  father's  grandeur  and  of  the  great  and  glorious 
life  he  led.  She  longed  to  recline  indolently  in  a 
priceless  tea-gown  on  the  couch  by  the  fireplace  and 
issue  orders.  .  .  .  She  approached  the  writing- 
table,  littered  with  papers,  documents,  in  scores  and 
hundreds.  To  the  left  was  the  brown  bag.  It  was 


350     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

locked,  and  very  heavy,  she  thought.     To  the  right 
was  a  pile  of  telegrams.  She  picked  up  one,  and  read : 

"  Pank,  Grand  Hotel,  Birmingham.  Why  not 
burgle  hotel?  Simplest  most  effective  -plan  and 
solves  all  difficulties. — BELMONT. 

She  read  it  twice,  crunched  it  in  her  left  hand,  and 
picked  up  another  one : 

"  Pank,  Adelphi  Hotel,  Liverpool.  Your  objec- 
tion absurd.  See  safe  in  bureau  at  Majestic. 
Quite  easy.  Scene  with  girl  second  evening. — BEL- 
MONT. 

The  thing  flashed  blindingly  upon  her.  Her 
father  and  Mr.  Pank  belonged  to  the  swell  mob  of 
which  she  had  heard  and  seen  so  much  at  Doncaster. 
She  at  once  became  the  excessively  knowing  and  suspi- 
cious hotel  employe,  to  whom  every  stranger  is  a 
rogue  until  he  has  proved  the  contrary.  Had  she 
lived  through  three  St.  Leger  weeks  for  nothing? 
At  the  hotel  at  Doncaster,  what  they  didn't  know 
about  thieves  and  sharpers  was  not  knowledge.  The 
landlord  kept  a  loaded  revolver  in  his  desk  there 
during  the  week.  And  she  herself  had  been  pro- 
vided with  a  whistle  which  she  was  to  blow  at  the 
slightest  sign  of  a  row;  she  had  blown  it  once,  and 
seven  policemen  had  appeared  within  thirty  seconds. 
The  landlord  used  to  tell  tales  of  masterly  and  huge 
scoundrelism  that  would  make  Charles  Peace  turn 
in  his  grave.  And  the  landlord  had  ever  insisted 
that  no  one,  no  one  at  all,  could  always  distinguish 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    351 

with  certainty  between  a  real  gent  and  a  swell-mobs- 
man. 

So  her  father  and  Mr.  Pank  had  deceived  every- 
one in  the  hotel  except  herself,  and  they  meant  to 
rob  the  safe  in  the  bureau  to-morrow  night.  Of 
course  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont  was  a  villain,  or  he  would 
not  have  deserted  her  poor  dear  mother;  it  was  an- 
noying, but  indubitable.  .  .  .  Even  now  he  was 
maturing  his  plans  round  the  corner  with  that  Mr. 
Pank.  .  .  .  Burglars  always  went  about  in 
shirt-sleeves.  .  .  .  The  brown  bag  contained 
the  tools.  .  .  . 

The  shock  was  frightful,  disastrous,  tragic;  but 
it  had  solved  the  situation  by  destroying  it.  Practi- 
cally, Nina  no  longer  had  a  father.  He  had  existed 
for  about  four  hours  as  a  magnificent  reality,  full  of 
possibilities;  he  now  ceased  to  be  recognisable. 

She  was  about  to  pick  up  a  third  telegram  when  a 
slight  noise  caused  her  to  turn  swiftly;  she  had  for- 
gotten to  keep  her  little  pink  ears  alert.  Her  father 
stood  in  the  doorway.  He  was  certainly  the  victim 
of  some  extraordinary  emotion;  his  face  worked; 
he  seemed  at  a  loss  what  to  do  or  say;  he  seemed 
pained,  confused,  even  astounded.  Simple,  foolish 
Nina  had  upset  the  balance  of  his  equations. 

Then  he  resumed  his  self-control  and  came  for- 
ward into  the  room  with  a  smile  intended  to  be  airy. 
Meanwhile  Nina  had  not  moved.  One  is  inclined 
to  pity  the  artless  and  defenceless  girl  in  this  mid- 
night duel  of  wits  with  a  shrewd,  resourceful,  and 
unscrupulous  man  of  the  world.  But  one's  pity 


352     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

should  not  be  lavished  on  an  undeserving  object. 
Though  Nina  trembled,  she  was  mistress  of  herself. 
She  knew  just  where  she  was,  and  just  how  to  be- 
have. She  was  as  impregnable  as  Gibraltar. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont,  genially  gaz- 
ing at  her  pose,  "  you  do  put  snap  into  it,  any  way." 

"  Into  what?  "  she  was  about  to  enquire,  but  pru- 
dently she  held  her  tongue.  Drawing  herself  up 
with  the  gesture  of  an  offended  and  unapproachable 
queen,  the  little  thing  sailed  past  him,  close  past  her 
own  father,  and  so  out  of  the  room. 

"  Say!  "  she  heard  him  remark:  "  let's  straighten 
this  thing  out,  eh?  " 

But  she  heroically  ignored  him,  thinking  the  while 
that,  with  all  his  sins,  he  was  attractive  enough. 
She  still  held  the  first  telegram  in  her  long,  thin 
fingers. 

So  ended  the  nocturne. 

rv 

At  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  Nina's  trifling 
nose  was  pressed  against  the  window-pane  of  her 
cubicle.  In  the  enormous  slate  roof  of  the  Majes- 
tic are  three  rows  of  round  windows,  like  port-holes. 
Out  of  the  highest  one,  at  the  extremity  of  the  left 
wing  Nina  looked.  From  thence  she  could  see  five 
other  vast  hotels,  and  the  yard  of  Charing  Cross 
Station,  with  three  night-cabs  drawn  up  to  the  kerb, 
and  a  red  van  of  W.  H.  Smith  and  Son  disappearing 
into  the  station.  The  Strand  was  quite  empty.  It 
was  a  strange  world  of  sleep  and  greyness  and  dis- 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    353 

illusion.  Within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  or  so  of 
her  thousands  of  people  lay  asleep,  and  they  would 
all  soon  wake  into  the  disillusion,  and  the  Strand 
would  wake,  and  the  first  omnibus  of  all  the  omni- 
buses would  come  along. 

Never  had  simple  Nina  felt  so  sad  and  weary. 
She  was  determined  to  give  up  her  father.  She  was 
bound  to  tell  the  manager  of  her  discovery,  for  Nina 
was  an  honest  servant,  and  she  was  piqued  in  her 
honesty.  No  one  should  know  that  Lionel  Belmont 
was  her  father.  .  .  She  saw  before  her  the 

task  of  forgetting  him  and  forgetting  the  rich 
dreams  of  which  he  had  been  the  origin.  She  was 
once  more  a  bookkeeper  with  no  prospects. 

At  eight  she  saw  the  manager  in  the  managerial 
room.  Mr.  Reuben  was  a  young  Jew,  aged  about 
thirty-four,  with  a  cold  but  indestructibly  polite  man- 
ner. He  was  a  great  man,  and  knew  it;  he  had  al- 
most invented  the  Majestic. 

She  told  him  her  news;  it  was  impossible  for  fool- 
ish Nina  to  conceal  her  righteousness  and  her  sense 
of  importance. 

"  Whom  did  you  say,  Miss  Malpas?  "  asked  Mr. 
Reuben. 

"  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont  —  at  least,  that's  what  he 
calls  himself." 

"  Calls  himself,  Miss  Malpas?  " 

"  Here's  one  of  the  telegrams." 

Mr.  Reuben  read  it,  looked  at  little  Nina,  and 
smiled;  he  never  laughed. 

"  Is  it  possible,  Miss  Malpas,"  said  he,  "  that  you 


354    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

don't  know  who  Mr.  Belmont  and  Mr.  Pank  are?" 
And  then,  as  she  shook  her  head,  he  continued  in  his 
impassive,  precise  way:  "  Mr.  Belmont  is  one  of 
the  principal  theatrical  managers  in  the  United  States. 
Mr.  Pank  is  one  of  the  principal  playwrights  in  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Pank's  melodrama  "  Nebraska  " 
is  now  being  played  at  the  Regency  by  Mr.  Belmont's 
own  American  company.  Another  of  Mr.  Belmont's 
companies  starts  shortly  for  a  tour  in  the  provinces 
with  the  musical  comedy  "  The  Dolmenico  Doll." 
I  believe  that  Mr.  Pank  and  Mr.  Belmont  are  now 
writing  a  new  melodrama,  and  as  they  have  both 
been  travelling,  but  not  together,  I  expect  that  these 
telegrams  relate  to  that  melodrama.  Did  you  sup- 
pose that  safe-burglars  wire  their  plans  to  each  other 
like  this?  "  He  waved  the  telegram  with  a  gesture 
of  fatigue. 

Silly,  ruined  Nina  made  no  answer. 

"  Do  you  ever  read  the  papers  —  the  Telegraph 
or  the  Mail,  Miss  Malpas?  " 

"  N-no,  sir." 

"  You  ought  to,  then  you  wouldn't  be  so  ignorant 
and  silly.  A  hotel-clerk  can't  know  too  much. 
And,  by-the-way,  what  were  you  doing  in  Mr.  Bel- 
mont's room  last  night,  when  you  found  these  won- 
derful telegrams?" 

"  I  went  there  —  I  went  there  —  to " 

"  Don't  cry,  please,  it  won't  help  you.  You  must 
leave  here  to-day.  You've  been  here  three  weeks, 
I  think.  I'll  tell  Mr.  Smith  to  pay  you  your  month's 
wages.  You  don't  know  enough  for  the  Majestic, 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    355 

Miss  Malpas.  Or  perhaps  you  know  too  much. 
I'm  sorry.  I  had  thought  you  would  suit  us.  Keep 
straight,  that's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you.  Go  back  to 
Doncaster,  or  wherever  it  is  you  came  from.  Leave 
before  five  o'clock.  That  will  do." 

With  a  godlike  air,  Mr.  Reuben  swung  round  his 
office-chair  and  faced  his  desk.  He  tried  not  to 
perceive  that  there  was  a  mysterious  quality  about 
this  case  which  he  had  not  quite  understood.  Nina 
tripped  piteously  out. 

In  the  whole  of  London  Nina  had  one  acquaint- 
ance, and  an  hour  or  so  later,  after  drinking  some 
tea,  she  set  forth  to  visit  this  acquaintance.  The 
weight  of  her  own  foolishness,  fatuity,  silliness,  and 
ignorance  was  heavy  upon  her.  And,  moreover,  she 
had  been  told  that  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont  had  already 
departed  back  to  America,  his  luggage  being  marked 
for  the  American  Transport  Line. 

She  was  primly  walking,  the  superlative  of  the 
miserable,  past  the  fagade  of  the  hotel,  when  some- 
one sprang  out  of  a  cab  and  spoke  to  her.  And  it 
was  Mr.  Lionel  Belmont. 

"  Get  right  into  this  hansom,  Miss  Malpas,"  he 
said  kindly,  "  and  I  guess  we'll  talk  it  out." 

"  Talk  what  out?  "  she  thought. 

But  she  got  in. 

"  Marble  Arch,  and  go  up  Regent  Street,  and 
don't  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Belmont  to  the  cabman. 

"  How  did  he  know  my  name  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 

"  A  hansom's  the  most  private  place  in  London," 
he  said  after  a  pause. 


356     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

It  certainly  did  seem  to  her  very  cosey  and  private, 
and  her  nearness  to  one  of  the  principal  theatrical 
managers  in  America  was  almost  startling.  Her 
white  frock,  with  the  black  velvet  decorations, 
touched  his  grey  suit. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  do  wish  you'd  tell  me  why 
you  were  in  my  parlour  last  night.  Honest." 

"  What  for?  "  she  parried,  to  gain  time. 

Should  she  begin  to  disclose  her  identity? 

"  Because  —  well,  because  —  oh,  look  here,  my 
girl,  I  want  to  be  on  very  peculiar  terms  with  you. 
I  want  to  straighten  out  everything.  You'll  be  sort 
of  struck,  but  I'll  be  bound  to  tell  you  I'm  your 
father.  Now,  don't  faint  or  anything." 

"Oh,  I  knew  that!"  she  gasped.  "I  saw  the 
moles  on  your  wrist  when  you  were  registering  — 
mother  told  me  about  them.  Oh,  if  I  had  only 
known  you  knew !  " 

They  looked  at  one  another. 

"  It  was  only  the  day  before  yesterday  I  found 
out  I  possessed  such  a  thing  as  a  daughter.  I  had 
a  kind  of  fancy  to  go  around  to  the  old  spot.  This 
notion  of  me  having  a  daughter  struck  me  consider- 
able, and  I  concluded  to  trace  her  and  size  her  up  at 
once."  Nina  was  bound  to  smile.  "  So  your  poor 
mother's  been  dead  three  years?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nina. 

"  Ah !  don't  let  us  talk  about  that.  I  feel  I  can't 
say  just  the  right  thing.  .  .  .  And  so  you  knew 
me  by  those  pips."  He  pulled  up  his  right  sleeve. 
"  Was  that  why  you  came  up  to  my  parlour?  " 


NOCTURNE  AT  THE  MAJESTIC    357 

Nina  nodded,  and  Lionel  Belmont  sighed  with 
relief. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  at  once,  my  dear,  who 
you  were?  " 

"  I  didn't  dare,"  she  smiled;  "  I  was  afraid.  I 
thought  you  wouldn't " 

"  Listen,"  he  said;  "  I've  wanted  someone  like 
you  for  years,  years,  and  years.  I've  got  no  one 

to  look  after " 

'  Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me  at  once  who  you 
were?  "  she  questioned  with  adorable  pertness. 

"  Oh !  "  he  laughed ;  "  how  could  I  —  plump  like 
that?  When  I  saw  you  first,  in  the  bureau,  the 
stricken  image  of  your  mother  at  your  age,  I  was 
nearly  down.  But  I  came  up  all  right,  didn't  I,  my 
dear?  I  acted  it  out  well,  didn't  I?" 


The  hansom  was  rolling  through  Hyde  Park, 
and  the  sunshiny  hour  was  eleven  in  June.  Nina 
looked  forth  on  the  gay  and  brilliant  scene :  rhodo- 
dendrons, duchesses,  horses,  dandies  —  the  incom- 
parable wealth  and  splendour  of  the  capital.  She 
took  a  long  breath,  and  began  to  be  happy  for  the 
rest  of  her  life.  She  felt  that,  despite  her  plain 
frock,  she  was  in  this  picture.  Her  father  had  told 
her  that  his  income  was  rising  on  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  he  would  thank  her 
to  spend  it.  Her  father  had  told  her,  when  she  had 
confessed  the  scene  with  Mr.  Reuben  and  what  led 
to  it,  that  she  had  grit,  and  that  the  mistake  was 


358     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

excusable,  and  that  a  girl  as  pretty  as  she  was  didn't 
want  to  be  as  fly  as  Mr.  Reuben  had  said.  Her 
father  had  told  her  that  he  was  proud  of  her,  and  he 
had  not  been  so  rude  as  to  laugh  at  her  blunder. 

She  felt  that  she  was  about  to  enter  upon  the 
true  and  only  vocation  of  a  dainty  little  morsel  — 
namely,  to  spend  money  earned  by  other  people. 
She  thought  less  homicidally  now  of  the  thirteen 
chorus-girls  of  the  previous  night. 

"  Say,"  said  her  father,  "  I  sail  this  afternoon  for 
New  York,  Nina." 

"  They  said  you'd  gone,  at  the  hotel." 

"  Only  my  baggage.  The  Minnehaha  clears  at 
five.  I  guess  I  want  you  to  come  along  too.  On 
the  voyage  we'll  get  acquainted,  and  tell  each  other 
things." 

"  Suppose  I  say  I  won't  ?  " 

She  spoke  despotically,  as  the  pampered  darling 
should. 

"  Then  I'll  wait  for  the  next  boat.  But  it'll  be 
awkward." 

"  Then  I'll  come.     But  I've  got  no  things." 

He  pushed  up  the  trap-door. 

"  Driver,  Bond  Street.  And  get  on  to  yourself, 
for  goodness'  sake!  Hurry." 

"  You  told  me  not  to  hurry,"  grumbled  the  cabby. 

"  And  now  I  tell  you  to  hustle.     See?  " 

"Shall  you  want  me  to  call  myself  Belmont?" 
Nina  asked. 

"  I  chose  it  because  it  was  a  fine  ten-horse-power 


359 

name  twenty  years  ago,"  said  her  father;  and  she 
murmured  that  she  liked  the  name  very  much. 

As  Lionel  Belmont  the  Magnificent  paid  the  cab- 
man, and  Nina  walked  across  the  pavement  into  one 
of  the  most  famous  repositories  of  expensive  frippery 
in  the  world,  she  thrilled  with  the  profoundest  pleas- 
ure her  tiny  soul  was  capable  of.  Foolish,  simple 
Nina  had  achieved  the  nee  plus  ultra  of  her  languor- 
ous dreams. 


MIMI 

SOME  people  may  regard  the  events  here  set 
down  as  perfectly  unimportant  and  therefore 
unworthy  of  perusal.     Some  may  regard  them 
as  amusing,  in  a  light,  gossamer  way.     A  few   (I 
hope)  may  regard  them  as  a  tragedy. 


On  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  late  October  Edward 
Coe,  a  satisfactory  average  successful  man  of  thirty- 
five,  was  walking  slowly  along  the  King's  Road, 
Brighton.  A  native  and  inhabitant  of  the  Five 
Towns  in  the  Midlands,  he  had  the  brusque  and 
energetic  mien  of  the  Midlands.  It  could  be  seen 
that  he  was  a  stranger  to  the  south;  and,  in  fact,  he 
was  now  viewing  for  the  first  time  the  vast  and  glit- 
tering spectacle  of  the  southern  pleasure  city  in  the 
unique  glory  of  her  autumn  season.  A  spectacle  to 
enliven  any  man  by  its  mere  splendour!  And  yet 
Edward  Coe  was  gloomy.  One  reason  for  his  gloom 
was  that  he  had  just  left  a  bicycle,  with  a  deflated 
back  tire,  to  be  repaired  at  a  shop  in  Preston  Street. 
Not  perhaps  an  adequate  reason  for  gloom  ! 
Well,  that  depends.  He  had  been  informed  by  the 
blue-clad  repairer,  after  due  inspection,  that  the 
trouble  was  not  a  common  puncture,  but  a  malady  of 
the  valve  mysterious. 

360 


MIMI  361 

And  the  deflation  was  not  the  sole  cause  of  his 
gloom.  There  was  another.  He  was  on  his  honey- 
moon. Understand  me  —  not  a  honeymoon  of  ro- 
mance, but  a  real  honeymoon.  Who  that  has  ever 
been  on  a  real  honeymoon  can  look  back  upon  the 
adventure  and  faithfully  say  that  it  was  an  unmixed 
ecstasy  of  joy?  A  honeymoon  is  in  its  nature  and 
consequences  so  solemn,  so  dangerous,  and  so  pitted 
with  startling  surprises,  that  the  most  irresponsible 
bridegroom,  the  most  light-hearted,  the  least  in  love, 
must  have  moments  of  grave  anxiety.  And  Edward 
Coe  was  far  from  irresponsible.  Nor  was  he  only 
a  little  in  love.  Moreover  the  circumstances  of  his 
marriage  were  peculiar,  and  he  had  married  a  dark, 
brooding,  passionate  girl. 

Mrs.  Coe  was  the  younger  of  two  sisters  named 
Olive  Wardle,  well-known  in  the  most  desirable  cir- 
cles in  the  Five  Towns.  I  mean  those  circles  where 
intellectual  and  artistic  tastes  are  united  with  sound 
incomes  and  excellent  food  delicately  served.  It  will 
certainly  be  asked  why  two  sisters  should  be  named 
Olive.  The  answer  is  that  though  Olive  One  and 
Olive  Two  were  treated  as  sisters,  and  even  treated 
themselves  as  sisters,  they  were  not  sisters.  They 
were  not  even  half-sisters.  They  had  first  met  at 
the  age  of  nine.  The  father  of  Olive  One,  a  wid- 
ower, had  married  the  mother  of  Olive  Two,  a 
widow.  Olive  One  was  the  elder  by  a  few  months. 
Olive  Two  gradually  allowed  herself  to  be  called 
Wardle  because  it  saved  trouble.  They  got  on  with 
one  another  very  well  indeed,  especially  after  the 


362     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

death  of  both  parents,  when  they  became  joint  mis- 
tresses, each  with  a  separate  income,  of  a  nice  house 
at  Sneyd,  the  fashionable  residential  village  on  the 
rim  of  the  Five  Towns.  Like  all  persons  who  live 
long  together,  they  grew  in  many  respects  alike. 
Both  were  dark,  brooding,  and  passionate,  and  to 
this  deep  similarity  a  superficial  similarity  of  habits 
and  demeanour  was  added.  Only,  whereas  Olive 
One  was  rather  more  inclined  to  be  the  woman  of 
the  world  Olive  Two  was  rather  more  inclined  to 
study,  and  was  particularly  interested  in  the  theory 
of  music. 

They  were  sought  after,  naturally.  And  yet  they 
had  reached  the  age  of  twenty-five  before  the  world 
perceived  that  either  of  them  was  not  sought  after 
in  vain.  The  fact,  obvious  enough,  that  Pierre 
Emile  Vaillac  had  become  an  object  of  profound 
human  interest  to  Olive  One  —  this  fact  excited  the 
world,  and  the  world  would  have  been  still  more  ex- 
cited had  it  been  aware  of  another  fact  that  was  not 
at  all  obvious :  namely,  that  Pierre  Emile  Vaillac  was 
the  cause  of  a  secret  and  terrible  breach  between  the 
two  sisters.  Vaillac,  a  widower  with  two  young 
children,  Mimi  and  Jean,  was  a  Frenchman,  and  a 
great  authority  on  the  decoration  of  egg-shell  china, 
who  had  settled  in  the  Five  Towns  as  expert  partner 
in  one  of  the  classic  china  firms  at  Longshaw.  He 
was  undoubtedly  a  very  attractive  man. 

Olive  One,  when  the  relations  between  herself 
and  Vaillac  were  developing  into  something  unmis- 


MIMI  363 

takable,  had  suddenly,  and  without  warning,  accused 
Olive  Two  of  poaching.  It  was  a  frightful  accusa- 
tion, and  a  frightful  scene  followed  it,  one  of  those 
scenes  that  are  seldom  forgiven  and  never  forgotten. 
It  altered  their  lives;  but  as  they  were  women  of 
considerable  commonsense  and  of  good  breeding, 
each  did  her  best  to  behave  afterwards  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. 

Olive  Two  did  not  convince  Olive  One  of  her  inno- 
cence, because  she  did  not  bring  forward  the  su- 
preme proof  of  it.  She  was  too  proud  —  in  her 
brooding  and  her  mystery  —  to  do  so.  The  su- 
preme proof  was  that  at  this  time  she  herself  was 
secretly  engaged  to  be  married  to  Edward  Coe,  who 
had  conquered  her  heart  with  unimaginable  swift- 
ness a  few  weeks  before  she  was  about  to  sit  for  a 
musical  examination  at  Manchester.  "  Let  us  say 
nothing  till  after  my  exam,"  she  had  suggested  to  her 
betrothed.  '  There  will  be  an  enormous  fuss,  and 
it  will  put  me  off,  and  I  shall  fail,  and  I  don't  want 
to  fail,  and  you  don't  want  me  to  fail."  He  agreed 
rapturously.  Of  course  she  did  fail,  nevertheless. 
But  being  obstinate  she  said  she  would  go  in  again, 
and  they  continued  to  make  a  secret  of  the  engage- 
ment. They  found  the  secret  delicious.  Then  fol- 
lowed the  devastating  episode  of  Vaillac.  Shortly 
afterwards  Olive  One  and  Vaillac  were  married,  and 
then  Olive  Two  was  alone  in  the  nice  house.  The 
examination  was  forgotten,  and  she  hated  the  house. 
She  wanted  to  be  married;  Coe  also.  But  nothing 


364     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

had  been  said.  Difficult  to  announce  her  engage- 
ment just  then !  The  world  would  say  that  she  had 
married  out  of  imitation,  and  her  sister  would  think 
that  she  had  married  out  of  pique.  Besides,  there 
would  be  the  fuss  which  Olive  Two  hated.  Already 
the  fuss  of  her  sister's  marriage,  and  the  effort  at  the 
wedding  of  pretending  that  nothing  had  happened 
between  them,  had  fatigued  the  nerves  of  Olive 
Two. 

Then  Edward  Coe  had  had  the  brilliant  and 
seductive  idea  of  marrying  in  secret.  To  slip  away, 
and  then  to  return,  saying,  "  We  are  married. 
That's  all!"  .  .  .  Why  not?  No  fuss!  No 
ceremonial!  The  accomplished  fact,  which  simpli- 
fies everything ! 

It  was  therefore,  a  secret  honeymoon  that  Edward 
Coe  was  on;  delightful  —  but  surreptitious,  furtive! 
His  mental  condition  may  be  best  described  by  stat- 
ing that,  though  he  was  conscious  of  rectitude,  he 
somehow  could  not  look  a  policeman  in  the  face. 
After  all,  plain  people  do  not  usually  run  off  on 
secret  honeymoons.  Had  he  acted  wisely?  Per- 
haps this  question,  presenting  itself  now  and  then, 
was  the  chief  cause  of  his  improper  gloom. 

II 

However,  the  spectacle  of  Brighton  on  a  fine  Sat- 
urday afternoon  in  October  had  its  effect  on  Edward 
Coe  —  the  effect  which  it  has  on  everybody.  Little 
by  little  it  inspired  him  with  the  joy  of  life,  and 


MIMI  365 

straightened  his  back,  and  put  a  sparkle  into  his  eyes. 
And  he  was  filled  with  the  consciousness  of  the  fact 
that  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  well-dressed  and  to  have 
loose  gold  in  your  pocket,  and  to  eat,  drink,  and 
smoke  well;  and  to  be  among  crowds  of  people  who 
are  well-dressed  and  have  loose  gold  in  their  pockets, 
and  eat  and  drink  and  smoke  well;  and  to  know  that 
a  magnificent  woman  will  be  waiting  for  you  at  a  cer- 
tain place  at  a  certain  hour,  and  that  upon  catching 
sight  of  you  her  dark  orbs  will  take  on  an  enchanting 
expression  reserved  for  you  alone,  and  that  she  is 
utterly  yours.  In  a  word,  he  looked  on  the  bright 
side  of  things  again.  It  could  not  ultimately  matter 
a  bilberry  whether  his  marriage  was  public  or  private. 

He  lit  a  cigarette  gaily.  He  could  not  guess  that 
untoward  destiny  was  waiting  for  him  close  by  the 
newspaper  kiosque. 

A  little  girl  was  leaning  against  the  palisade  there, 
and  gazing  somewhat  restlessly  about  her.  A  quite 
little  girl  aged,  perhaps,  eleven,  dressed  in  blue  serge, 
with  a  short  frock  and  long  legs,  and  a  sailor  hat 
(H.M.S.  Formidable),  and  long  hair  down  her 
back,  and  a  mild,  twinkling,  trustful  glance.  Some- 
what untidy,  but  nevertheless  the  image  of  grace. 

She  saw  him  first.  Otherwise  he  might  have  fled. 
But  he  was  right  upon  her  before  he  saw  her.  In- 
deed, he  heard  her  before  he  saw  her. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Coe." 

"  Mimi !  " 

The  Vaillacs  were  in  Brighton  I     He  had  chosen 


3 66     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

practically  the  other  end  of  the  world  for  his  honey- 
moon, and  lo !  by  some  awful  clumsiness  of  fate  the 
Vaillacs  were  at  the  same  end!  The  very  people 
from  whom  he  wished  to  conceal  his  honeymoon  un- 
til it  was  over,  would  know  all  about  it  at  the  very 
start!  Relations  between  the  two  Olives  would  be 
still  more  strained  and  difficult !  In  brief,  from  op- 
timism he  swung  violently  back  to  darkest  pessimism. 
What  could  be  worse  than  to  be  caught  red-handed 
in  a  surreptitious  honeymoon? 

She  noticed  his  confusion,  and  he  knew  that  she 
noticed  it.  She  was  a  little  girl.  But  she  was  also 
a  little  woman,  a  little  Frenchwoman,  who  spoke 
English  perfectly  —  and  yet  with  a  difference ! 
They  had  flirted  together,  she  and  Mr.  Coe.  She 
had  a  new  mother  now,  but  for  years  she  had  been 
without  a  mother,  and  she  would  receive  callers  at 
her  father's  house  (if  he  happened  to  be  out)  with 
a  delicious  imitation  of  a  practised  hostess. 

He  raised  his  hat  and  shook  hands,  and  tried  to 
play  the  game. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Mimi?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  she  parried,  laugh- 
ing. And  then,  perceiving  his  increased  trouble,  and 
that  she  was  failing  in  tact,  she  went  on  rapidly,  with 
a  screwing  up  of  the  childish  shoulders,  and  some- 
thing between  a  laugh  and  a  grin:  "  It's  my  back. 
It  seems  it's  not  strong.  And  so  we've  taken  an 
ever  so  jolly  little  house  for  the  autumn,  because  of 
the  air,  you  know.  Didn't  you  know?  " 

No,  he  did  not  know.     That  was  the  worst  of 


MIMI  367 

strained  relations.  You  were  not  informed  of 
events  in  advance. 

"Where?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  pointing.  "  That  way.  On  the 
road  to  Rottingdean.  Near  the  big  girls'  school. 
We  came  in  on  that  lovely  electric  railway  —  along 
the  beach.  Have  you  been  on  it,  Mr.  Coe?  " 

Terrible  !  Rottingdean  was  precisely  the  scene  of 
his  honeymoon.  The  hazard  of  fate  was  truly  ap- 
palling. He  and  his  wife  might  have  walked  one 
day  straight  into  the  arms  of  her  sister!  He  went 
hot  and  cold. 

"  And  where  are  the  others?  "  he  asked  nervously. 

"  Mamma  "  —  she  coloured  as  she  used  this  word, 
so  strange  on  her  lips  — •  "  Mamma's  at  home. 
Father  may  come  to-night.  And  Ada  has  brought 
us  here  so  that  Jean  can  have  his  hair  cut.  He 
didn't  want  to  come  without  me." 

"Ada?" 

"  Ada's  a  new  servant.  She's  just  gone  in  there 
again  to  see  how  long  the  barber  will  be."  Mimi 
indicated  a  barber's  shop  opposite.  "  And  I'm 
waiting  here,"  she  added. 

"  Mimi,"  he  said,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  can  you 
keep  a  secret?  " 

She  grew  solemn.  "  Yes."  She  smiled  seriously. 
"What?" 

"  About  meeting  me.  Don't  tell  anybody  you've 
met  me  to-day.  See?  " 

"Not  Jean?" 

"  No,  not  Jean.     But  later  on  you  can  tell  —  when 


368     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

I  give  you  the  tip.  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know 
just  now." 

It  was  a  shame.  He  knew  it  was  a  shame.  He 
deliberately  flattered  her  by  appealing  to  her  as  to 
a  grown  woman.  He  deliberately  put  a  cajoling 
tone  into  his  voice.  He  would  not  have  done  it  if 
Mimi  had  not  been  Mimi  —  if  she  had  been  an  ordi- 
nary sort  of  English  girl.  But  she  was  Mimi.  And 
the  temptation  was  very  strong.  She  promised, 
gravely.  He  knew  that  he  could  rely  on  her. 

Hurrying  away  lest  Jean  and  the  servant  might 
emerge  from  the  barber's,  he  remembered  with 
compunction  that  he  had  omitted  to  show  any  curios- 
ity about  Mimi's  back. 

ill 

The  magnificent  woman  was  to  be  waiting  for  him 
in  the  lounge  of  the  Royal  York  Hotel  at  a  quarter 
to  four.  She  was  coming  in  to  Brighton  by  the 
Rottingdean  omnibus,  which  function,  unless  the 
driver  changes  his  mind,  occurs  once  in  every  two 
or  three  hours.  He,  being  under  the  necessity  of 
telephoning  to  London  on  urgent  business,  had  hired 
a  bicycle  and  ridden  in.  Despite  the  accident  to  this 
prehistoric  machine,  he  arrived  at  the  Royal  York 
half  a  minute  before  the  Rottingdean  omnibus  passed 
through  the  Old  Steine,  and  set  down  the  magnificent 
woman,  his  wife.  The  sight  of  her  stepping  off  the 
omnibus  really  did  thrill  him.  They  entered  the 
hotel  together,  and,  accustomed  though  the  Royal 


MIMI  369 

York  is  to  the  reception  of  magnificent  women,  Olive 
made  a  sensation  therein.  As  for  him,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  just  as  though  he  had  eloped  with  her. 
He  could  not  help  fancying  that  all  the  brilliant  com- 
pany in  the  lounge  was  murmuring  under  the  strains 
of  the  band:  "That  Johnny  there  has  certainly 
eloped  with  that  splendid  creature !  " 

"  Ed,"  she  asked,  fixing  her  dark  eyes  upon  him, 
"  is  anything  the  matter?  " 

They  were  having  tea  at  a  little  Moorish  table  in 
the  huge  bay  window  of  the  lounge. 

"  No,"  he  said.  This  was  the  first  lie  of  his 
career  as  a  husband.  But  truly  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  give  her  the  awful  shock  of  telling  her 
that  the  Vaillacs  were  closed  at  hand,  that  their 
secret  was  discovered,  and  that  their  peace  and  se- 
curity depended  entirely  upon  the  discretion  of  little 
Mimi  and  upon  their  not  meeting  other  Vaillacs. 

"  Then  it's  having  that  puncture  that  has  upset 
you,"  his  wife  insisted.  You  see  her  feelings  to- 
wards him  were  so  passionate  that  she  could  not 
leave  him  alone.  She  was  utterly  pre-occupied  by 
him. 

"  No,"  he  said  guiltily. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  very  much  care  for  this 
place,"  she  went  on,  because  she  knew  now  that  he 
was  not  telling  her  the  truth,  and  that  something,  in- 
deed, was  the  matter. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "  I  was  informed 
that  the  finest  tea  and  the  most  perfect  toast  in 


370     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Brighton  were  to  be  had  in  this  lounge,  and  upon 
my  soul  I  feel  as  if  I  could  keep  on  having  tea  here 
for  ever  and  ever  amen !  " 

He  was  trying  to  be  gay,  but  not  very  successfully. 

"  I  don't  mean  just  here,"  she  said.  "  I  mean  all 
this  south  coast." 

"  Well "  he  began  judicially. 

"Oh!  Ed!"  she  implored  him.  "Do  say  you 
don't  like  it!" 

"  Why !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Don't  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  much  prefer  the  north," 
she  remarked. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  let's  go.     Say  Scarborough." 

"  You're  joking,"  she  murmured.  '  You  adore 
this  south  coast." 

"  Never!  "  he  asserted  positively. 

"  Well,  darling,"  she  said,  "  if  you  hadn't  said 
first  that  you  didn't  care  for  it,  of  course  I  shouldn't 
have  breathed  a  word " 

"  Let's  go  to-morrow,"  he  suggested. 

"  Yes."     Her  eyes  shone. 

"  First  train !  We  should  have  to  leave  Rotting- 
dean  at  six  o'clock  a.  m." 

"  How  lovely !  "  she  exclaimed.  She  was  en- 
chanted by  this  idea  of  a  capricious  change  of  pro- 
gramme. It  gave  such  a  sense  of  freedom,  of  irre- 
sponsibility, of  romance ! 

"  More  toast,  please,"  he  said  to  the  waiter,  joy- 
ously. 

It  cost  him  no  effort  to  be  gay  now.  He  could 
not  have  been  sad.  The  world  was  suddenly  trans- 


MIMI  371 

formed  into  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  He  was 
saved!  They  were  saved!  Yes,  he  could  trust 
Mimi.  By  no  chance  would  they  be  caught.  They 
would  stick  in  their  rooms  all  the  evening,  and  on 
the  morrow  they  would  be  away  long  before  the 
Vaillacs  were  up.  Papa  and  "  mamma "  Vaillac 
were  terrible  for  late-rising.  And  when  he  had  got 
his  magnificent  Olive  safe  in  Scarborough,  or  wher- 
ever their  noses  might  lead  them,  then  he  would  tell 
her  of  the  risk  they  had  run. 

They  both  laughed  from  mere  irrational  glee,  and 
Edward  Coe  nearly  forgot  to  pay  the  bill.  How- 
ever, he  did  pay  it.  They  departed  from  the  Royal 
York.  He  put  his  Olive  into  the  returning  Rotting- 
dean  omnibus,  and  then  hurried  to  get  his  repaired 
bicycle.  He  had  momentarily  quaked  lest  Mimi  and 
company  might  be  in  the  omnibus.  But  they  were 
not.  They  must  have  left  earlier,  fortunately,  or 
walked. 

rvi 

When  he  was  still  about  a  mile  away  from  Rot- 
tingdean,  and  the  hour  was  dusk,  and  he  was  walk- 
ing up  a  hill,  he  caught  sight  of  a  girl  leaning  on  a 
gate  that  led  by  a  long  path  to  a  house  near  the 
cliffs.  It  was  Mimi.  She  gave  a  cry  of  recognition. 
He  did  not  care  now  —  he  was  at  ease  now  —  but 
really,  with  that  house  so  close  to  the  road  and  so 
close  to  Rottingdean,  he  and  his  Olive  had  practically 
begun  their  honeymoon  on  the  summit  of  a  volcano ! 

Mimi  was  pensive.     He  felt  remorse  at  having 


372     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

bound  her  to  secrecy.  She  was  so  pensive,  and  so 
wistful,  and  her  eyes  were  so  loyal,  that  he  felt  he 
owed  her  a  more  complete  confidence. 

"  I'm  on  my  honeymoon,  Mimi,"  he  said.  It  gave 
him  pleasure  to  tell  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  simply,  "  I  saw  Auntie  Olive  go 
by  in  the  omnibus." 

That  was  all  she  said.  He  was  thunderstruck,  as 
much  by  her  calm  simplicity  as  by  anything  else. 
Children  were  astounding  creatures. 

"  Did  Jean  see  her,  or  anyone?  "  he  asked. 

Mimi  shook  her  head. 

Then  he  told  her  they  were  leaving  the  next  morn- 
ing at  six. 

"  Shall  you  be  in  a  carriage?  "  she  enquired. 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh  I  Do  let  me  come  out  and  see  you  go  past," 
she  pleaded.  "  Nobody  else  in  our  house  will  be  up 
till  hours  afterwards !  Do !  " 

He  was  about  to  say  "  No,"  for  it  would  mean 
revealing  the  whole  affair  to  his  wife  at  once.  But 
after  an  instant  he  said  "  Yes."  He  would  not  re- 
fuse that  exquisite  appealing  gesture.  Besides,  why 
keep  anything  whatever  from  Olive,  even  for  a  day? 

At  dinner  he  told  his  wife,  and  was  glad  to  learn 
that  she  also  thought  highly  of  Mimi,  and  had  con- 
fidence in  her. 


Mimi  lay  in  bed  in  the  nursery  of  the  hired  house 
on  the  way  to  Rottingdean,  which,  considering  that 


MIMI  373 

it  was  not  "  home,"  was  a  fairly  comfortable  sort  of 
abode.  The  nursery  was  immense,  though  an  attic. 
The  white  blinds  of  the  two  windows  were  drawn, 
and  a  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  lighting  it  pleasantly 
and  behaving  in  a  very  friendly  manner.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  in  the  deep  shadow,  was 
Jean's  bed. 

The  door  opened  quietly,  and  someone  came  into 
the  room  and  pushed  the  door  to  without  quite  shut- 
ting it. 

"Is  that  you,  mamma?"  Jean  demanded  in  his 
shrill  voice,  from  the  distance  of  the  bed  in  the  cor- 
ner. His  age  was  exactly  eight. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  the  new  stepmother. 

The  menial  Ada  had  arranged  the  children  for  the 
night,  and  now  the  stepmother  had  come  up  to  kiss 
them,  and  be  kind.  She  was  a  conscientious  young 
woman,  full  of  a  desire  to  do  right,  and  she  had 
determined  not  to  be  like  the  traditional  stepmother. 

She  kissed  Jean,  who  had  taken  quite  a  fancy  to 
her,  and  tickled  him  agreeably,  and  tucked  him  up 
anew,  and  then  moved  silently  across  the  room  to 
Mimi.  Mimi  could  see  her  face  in  the  twilight  of 
the  fire.  A  handsome,  good-natured  face;  yet  very 
determined,  and  perhaps  a  little  too  full  of  common- 
sense.  It  had  a  responsible,  somewhat  grave  look. 
After  all  these  two  young  children  were  a  responsi- 
bility, especially  Mimi  with  her  back;  and,  more- 
over, Pierre  Emile  Vaillac  had  disappointed  both 
her  and  her  stepchildren  by  telegraphing  that  he 
could  not  arrive  that  night.  Olive  One,  the  bride 


374    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

of  three  months,  had  put  on  fine  raiment  for  noth- 
ing. 

"  Well,  Mimi,"  she  said  in  her  low  vibrating 
voice,  as  she  stood  over  the  bed,  "  I  do  hope  you 
didn't  over-tire  yourself  this  afternoon."  Then  she 
kissed  Mimi. 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma !  "     The  little  girl  smiled. 

"  It  seems  you  waited  outside  the  barber's  while 
Jeannot  was  having  his  hair  cut." 

"  Yes,  mamma.     I  didn't  like  to  go  in." 

"  Ada  didn't  stay  with  you  all  the  time?  " 

"  No,  mamma.  First  of  all  she  took  Jeannot  in, 
and  then  she  came  out  to  me,  and  then  she  went  in 
again  to  see  how  long  he  would  be." 

"  I'm  sorry  she  left  you  alone  in  the  street.     She 
ought  not  to  have  done  so,  and  I've  told  her. 
The  King's  Road,  with  all  kinds  of  people  about!  " 

Mimi  said  nothing.  The  new  Madame  Vaillac 
moved  a  little  towards  the  fire. 

"  Of  course,"  the  latter  went  on,  "  I  know  you're 
a  regular  little  woman,  and  perhaps  I  needn't  tell 
you,  but  you  must  never  speak  to  anyone  in  the 
street." 

"  No,  mamma." 

"  Particularly  in  Brighton.  .  .  .  You  never 
do,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma." 

"  Good-night." 

The  stepmother  left  the  room.  Mimi  could  feel 
her  heart  beating.  Then  Jean  called  out: 

"  Mimi." 


MIMI  375 

She  made  no  reply.  The  fact  was  she  was  too  dis- 
turbed to  be  able  to  reply. 

Jean  called  again  and  then  got  out  of  bed  and 
thudded  across  the  room  to  her  bedside. 

"  I  say,  Mimi,"  he  screeched  in  his  insistent  treble, 
"  who  was  it  you  were  talking  to?  " 

Mimi's  heart  did  not  beat,  it  jumped. 

"When?     Where?" 

"  This  afternoon,  when  I  was  having  my  hair  cut." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  was  talking  to  anybody?  " 

"  Ada  saw  you  through  the  window  of  the  bar- 
ber's." 

"When  did  she  tell  you?" 

"  She  didn't.     I  heard  her  telling  mamma." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  Mimi  hid  her  face, 
and  Jean  could  hear  sobbing. 

'  You  might  tell  me !  "  Jean  insisted.  He  was 
too  absorbed  by  his  own  curiosity,  and  too  upset  by 
the  full  realisation  of  the  fact  that  she  had  kept 
something  from  him,  to  be  touched  by  her  tears. 

"  It's  a  secret,"  she  muttered  into  the  pillow. 

"You  might  tell  me!" 

"  Go  away,  Jeannot!  "  she  burst  out  hysterically. 

He  gave  an  angry  lunge  against  the  bed. 

"  I  tell  you  everything;  and  it's  not  fair.  C'est 
pas  juste!  "  he  said,  savagely,  but  there  were  tears  in 
his  voice,  too.  He  was  a  creature  at  once  sensitive 
and  violent,  passionately  attached  to  Mimi. 

He  thudded  back  to  his  bed.  But  even  before  he 
had  reached  his  bed  Mimi  could  hear  him  weeping. 

She  gradually  stilled  her  own  sobs,  and  after  a 


376    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

time  Jean's  ceased.  And  then  she  guessed  that  Jean 
had  gone  to  sleep.  But  Mimi  did  not  go  to  sleep. 
She  knew  that  chance,  and  Mr.  Coe,  and  that  odious 
new  servant,  Ada,  had  combined  to  ruin  her  life. 
She  saw  the  whole  affair  clearly.  Ada  was  officious 
and  fussy,  also  secretive  and  given  to  plotting. 
Ada's  leading  idea  was  that  children  had  to  be  cir- 
cumvented. Imagine  the  detestable  woman  spying 
on  her  from  the  window,  and  then  saying  nothing 
to  her,  but  sneaking  off  to  tell  tales  to  her  mamma ! 
Imagine  it!  Mimi's  strict  sense  of  justice  could 
not  blame  her  mamma.  She  was  sure  that  the  new 
stepmother  meant  well  by  her.  Her  mamma  had 
given  her  every  opportunity  to  confess,  to  admit  of 
her  own  accord  that  she  had  been  talking  to  some- 
body in  the  street,  and  she  had  not  confessed.  On 
the  contrary,  she  had  lied.  Her  mamma  would 
probably  say  nothing  more  on  the  matter,  for  she 
had  a  considerable  sense  of  honour  with  children, 
and  would  not  take  an  unfair  advantage.  Having 
tried  to  obtain  a  confession  from  Mimi  by  pretend- 
ing that  she  knew  nothing,  and  having  failed,  she  was 
not  the  woman  to  turn  round  and  say,  "  Now  I  know 
all  about  it.  So  just  confess  at  once !  "  Her 
mamma  would  accept  the  situation,  would  try  to  be- 
have as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  would  prob- 
ably even  say  nothing  to  her  father. 

But  Mimi  knew  that  she  was  ruined  for  ever  in 
her  stepmother's  esteem. 

And  she  had  quarrelled  with  Jean,  which  was  ex- 
ceedingly hateful  and  exceedingly  rare.  And  there 


MIMI  377 

was  also  the  private  worry  of  her  mysterious  back. 
And  there  was  another  thing.  The  mere  fact  that 
her  friend,  Mr.  Coe,  had  gone  and  married  some- 
body. For  long  she  had  a  weakness  for  Mr.  Coe. 
They  had  been  intimate  at  times.  Once,  last  year, 
in  the  stern  of  a  large  sailing-boat  at  Morecambe, 
while  her  friends  were  laughing  and  shouting  at  the 
piano,  she  and  Mr.  Coe  had  had  a  most  beautiful 
quiet  conversation  about  her  thoughts  on  the  world 
in  general;  she  had  stroked  his  hand.  .  .  .  No  I 
She  had  no  dream  whatever  of  growing  up  into  a 
woman  and  then  marrying  Mr.  Coe  !  Certainly  not. 
But  still,  that  he  should  have  gone  and  married,  like 
that  ...  it  was  .  .  . 

The  fire  died  out  into  blackness,  thus  ceasing  to  be 
a  friend.  Still  she  did  not  sleep.  Was  it  likely  that 
she  should  sleep,  with  the  tragedy  and  woe  of  the 
entire  universe  crushing  her? 

VI 

Mr.  Edward  Coe  and  Olive  Two  arose  from  their 
bed  the  next  morning  in  great  spirits.  Mr.  Coe  had 
told  both  his  wife  and  Mimi  that  the  hour  of  depar- 
ture from  Rottingdean  would  be  six  o'clock.  But 
this  was  an  exaggeration.  So  far  as  his  wife  was 
concerned,  he  had  already  found  it  well  to  exaggerate 
on  such  matters.  A  little  judicious  exaggeration 
lessened  the  risk  of  missing  trains  and  other  phe- 
nomena which  cannot  be  missed  without  confusion 
and  disappointment. 

As  a  fact  it  was  already  six  o'clock  when  Edward 


378     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Coe  looked  forth  from  the  bedroom  window.  He 
was  completely  dressed.  His  wife  also  was  com- 
pletely dressed.  He  therefore  felt  quite  safe  about 
the  train.  The  window,  which  was  fairly  high  up 
in  the  world,  gave  on  the  south  end,  so  that  he  had  a 
view,  not  only  of  the  vast  naked  downs  billowing 
away  towards  Newhaven,  but  also  of  the  Channel, 
which  was  calm,  and  upon  which  little  parcels  of  fog 
rested.  The  sky  was  clear  overhead,  of  a  greenish 
sapphire  colour,  and  the  autumnal  air  bit  and  gnawed 
on  the  skin  like  some  friendly  domestic  animal,  and 
invigorated  like  an  expensive  tonic.  On  the  dying 
foliage  of  a  tree  near  the  window  millions  of  pre- 
cious stones  hung.  Cocks  were  boasting.  Cows 
were  expressing  a  justifiable  anxiety.  And  in  the 
distance  a  small  steamer  was  making  a  great  deal  of 
smoke  about  nothing,  as  it  puffed  out  of  Newhaven 
harbour. 

"  Olive,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

She  was  putting  hats  into  the  top  of  her  trunk. 
She  had  a  special  hat-box,  but  the  hats  were  too 
large  for  it,  and  she  packed  minor  trifles  in  the  hat- 
box,  such  as  skirts.  This  was  one  of  the  details 
which  first  indicated  to  an  astounded  Edward  Coe 
that  a  woman  is  never  less  like  a  man  than  when 
travelling. 

"  Come  here,"  he  commanded  her. 

She  obeyed. 

"  Look  at  that,"  he  commanded  her,  pointing  to 
the  scene  of  which  the  window  was  the  frame. 


MIMI  379 

She  obeyed.  She  also  looked  at  him  with  her 
dark,  passionate,  and  yet  half-mocking  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  who's  going  to  make  that 
trunk  lock?" 

She  snapped  her  fingers  at  the  sweet  morning  in- 
fluences of  nature,  to  which  he  was  peculiarly  sensi- 
tive. And  yet  he  was  delighted.  He  found  it  en- 
tirely delicious  that  she  should  say,  when  called  upon 
to  admire  nature :  "  Who's  going  to  make  that 
trunk  lock?  " 

He  stroked  her  hair. 

"  It's  no  use  trying  to  keep  your  hair  decent  at  the 
seaside,"  she  remarked,  pouting  exquisitely. 

He  explained  that  his  hand  was  offering  no  criti- 
cism of  her  hair.  And  then  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  bedroom  door,  and  Olive  Two  jumped  a  little 
away  from  her  husband. 

"  Come  in,"  he  cried,  pretending  to  be  as  bold  as 
a  lion. 

However,  he  had  forgotten  that  the  door  was 
locked,  and  he  had  to  go  and  open  it. 

A  tray  with  coffee,  and  milk  and  sugar,  and  slices 
of  bread-and-butter  was  in  the  doorway,  and  behind 
the  tray  the  little  parlour-maid  of  the  little  hotel. 
He  greeted  the  girl  and  instructed  her  to  carry  the 
tray  to  the  table  by  the  window. 

'  You  are  prompt,"  said  Olive  Two  kindly.  She 
had  got  up  so  miraculously  early  herself  that  she  was 
startled  to  see  any  other  woman  up  quite  as  early. 
And  also  she  was  a  little  surprised  that  the  parlour- 
maid showed  no  surprise  at  these  very  unusual  hours. 


380    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Yes'm,"  replied  the  parlour-maid,  wondering 
why  Olive  Two  was  so  excited.  The  parlour-maid 
arose  at  five-thirty  every  morning  of  her  life,  except 
on  special  occasions,  when  she  arose  at  four-thirty  to 
assist  in  pastoral  affairs. 

"  All  right,  this  coffee,  eh?"  murmured  Edward 
Coe  as  he  put  down  the  steaming  cup  after  his  first 
sip.  They  were  alone  again,  seated  opposite  each 
other  at  the  small  table  by  the  window. 

Olive  Two  nodded. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  was  the  one 
unique  dreamed-of  hotel  in  England  where  the  coffee 
is  good  of  its  own  accord.  No!  In  the  matter  of 
coffee  this  hotel  was  just  like  all  other  hotels.  Only 
Olive  Two  had  taken  special  precautions  about  that 
coffee.  She  had  been  into  the  hotel  kitchen  on  the 
previous  evening  about  that  coffee. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  asked,  "  where's  the  sun?  " 

"  The  sun  doesn't  happen  to  be  up  yet,"  said 
Edward.  He  looked  at  his  diary  and  then  at  his 
watch.  "  Unless  something  goes  wrong,  you'll  be 
seeing  it  inside  of  three  minutes." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  we  shall  see  the  sun  rise?  " 
she  exclaimed. 

He  nodded. 

"  Well !  "  cried  she,  absurdly  gleeful,  "  I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing!  " 

She  watched  the  sunrise  like  a  child  who  sees  for 
the  first  time  the  inside  of  a  watch.  And  when  the 
sun  had  risen  she  glanced  anxiously  round  the  disor- 
dered room. 


MIMI  381 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  she  muttered,  "  don't  let's 
forget  these  tooth-brushes !  " 

"  You  are  so  ridiculous,"  said  he,  "  that  I  must 
kiss  you." 

The  truth  is  that  they  were  no  better  than  two 
children  out  on  an  adventure. 

It  was  the  same  when  down  in  the  hotel-yard  they 
got  into  the  small  and  decrepit  victoria  which  was 
destined  to  take  them  and  their  luggage  to  Brighton. 
It  was  the  same,  but  more  so.  They  were  both  so 
pleased  with  themselves  that  their  joy  was  bubbling 
continually  out  in  manifestations  that  could  only  be 
described  as  infantile.  The  mere  drive  through  the 
village,  with  the  pony  whisking  his  tail  round  corners, 
and  the  driver  steadying  the  perilous  hat-box  with 
his  left  hand,  was  so  funny  that  somehow  they  could 
not  help  laughing. 

Then  they  had  left  the  village  and  were  climbing 
the  exposed  high-road,  with  the  wavy  blue-green 
downs  on  the  right,  and  the  immense  glittering  flat 
floor  of  the  Channel  on  the  left.  And  the  mere  sen- 
sation of  being  alive  almost  overwhelmed  them. 

And  further  on  they  passed  a  house  that  stood  by 
itself  away  from  the  road  towards  the  cliffs.  It  had 
a  sloping  garden  and  a  small  greenhouse.  The  gate 
leading  to  the  road  was  ajar,  but  the  blinds  of  all  the 
windows  were  drawn,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
anywhere. 

"  That's  the  house,"  said  Edward  Coe  briefly. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"   Olive  Two  replied. 

"  Olive  One  is  certainly  the  worst  getter-up  that  I 


382     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

ever  had  anything  to  do  with,  and  I  believe  Pierre 
Emile  isn't  much  better." 

"  Well,"  said  Edward,  "  it's  no  absolute  proof  of 
sluggardliness  not  to  be  up  and  about  at  six  forty- 
five  of  a  morning,  you  know." 

"  I  was  forgetting  how  early  it  was !  "  said  Olive 
Two,  and  yawned.  The  yawn  escaped  her  before 
she  was  aware  of  it.  She  pulled  herself  together, 
and  kissed  her  hands  mockingly,  quizzically,  to  the 
house.  "  Good-bye,  house !  Good-bye,  house !  " 

They  were  saved  now.  They  could  not  be  caught 
now  on  their  surreptitious  honeymoon.  And  their 
spirits  went  even  higher. 

"  I  thought  you  said  Mimi  would  be  waiting  for 
use?  "  Olive  Two  remarked. 

Edward  Coe  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Probably 
overslept  herself!  Or  she  may  have  got  tired  of 
waiting.  I  told  her  six  o'clock." 

On  the  whole  Olive  Two  was  relieved  that  Mimi 
was  invisible. 

"  It  wouldn't  really  matter  if  she  did  split  on  us, 
would  it?  "  said  the  bride. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  the  bridegroom  agreed.  Now  that 
they  had  safely  left  the  house  behind  them,  they  were 
both  very  valiant.  It  was  as  if  they  were  both  say- 
ing :  "  Who  cares  ?  "  The  bridegroom's  mood  was 
entirely  different  from  his  sombre  apprehensiveness 
of  the  previous  evening.  And  the  early  sunshine  on 
the  dewdrops  was  magnificent. 

But  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  further  on,  at  a 
bend  of  the  road,  they  saw  a  little  girl  shading  her 


MIMI  383 

eyes  with  her  hand,  and  gazing  towards  the  sun. 
She  wore  a  short  blue  serge  frock,  and  she  had  long 
restless  legs,  and  the  word  Formidable  was  on  her 
forehead,  and  her  eyes  were  all  screwed  up  in  the 
strong  sunshine.  And  in  her  hand  were  flowers. 
'  There  she  is,  after  all !  "  said  Edward  quickly. 

Olive  Two  nodded.  Olive  Two  also  blushed,  for 
Mimi  was  the  first  person  acquainted  with  her  to  see 
her  after  her  marriage.  She  blushed  because  she 
was  now  a  married  woman. 

Mimi,  who  with  much  prudence  had  managed  so 
that  the  meeting  should  not  occur  exactly  in  front  of 
the  house,  came  towards  the  carriage.  The  pony 
was  walking  up  a  slope.  She  bounded  forward  with 
her  childish  grace  and  with  the  awkwardness  of  her 
long  legs,  and  her  hair  loose  in  the  breeze,  and  she 
laughed  nervously. 

"  Good  morning,  good  morning,"  she  cried. 
"  Shall  I  jump  on  the  step?  Then  the  horse  won't 
have  to  stop." 

And  she  jumped  lightly  on  to  the  step,  and 
giggled,  still  nervously,  looking  first  at  the  bride- 
groom and  then  at  the  bride.  The  bridegroom  held 
her  securely  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Well,  Mimi,"  said  Olive  Two,  whose  shyness 
vanished  in  an  instant  before  the  shyness  of  the 
child.  "  This  is  nice  of  you." 

The  two  women  kissed.  But  Mimi  did  not  offer 
her  cheek  to  the  bridegroom.  He  and  she  simply 
shook  hands,  as  well  as  they  could  with  a  due  regard 
for  Mimi's  firmness  on  the  step. 


384    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  And  who  woke  you  up,  eh?  "  Edward  Coe  de- 
manded. 

"  Nobody,"  said  Mimi,  "  I  got  up  by  myself,  and," 
turning  to  Olive  Two,  "  I've  made  this  bouquet  for 
you,  auntie.  There  aren't  any  flowers  in  the  fields. 
But  I  got  the  chrysanthemum  out  of  the  greenhouse, 
and  put  some  bits  of  ferns  and  things  round  it.  You 
must  excuse  it  being  tied  up  with  darning  wool." 

She  offered  the  bouquet  diffidently,  and  Olive  Two 
accepted  it  with  a  warm  smile. 

"  Well,"  said  Mimi,  "  I  don't  think  I'd  better  go 
any  farther,  had  I?  " 

There  was  another  kiss  and  handshaking,  and  the 
next  moment  Mimi  was  standing  in  the  road  and 
waving  a  little  crumpled  handkerchief  to  the  receding 
victoria,  and  the  bride  and  bridegroom  were  cricking 
their  necks  to  respond.  She  waved  until  the  carriage 
was  out  of  sight,  and  then  she  stood  moveless,  a  blue 
and  white  spot  on  the  green  landscape,  with  the 
morning  sun  and  the  sea  behind  her. 

"Exactly  like  a  little  woman,  isn't  she?"  said 
Edward  Coe,  enchanted  by  the  vision. 

"Exactly!"  Olive  Two  agreed.  "Nice  little 
thing !  But  how  tired  and  unwell  she  looks !  They 
did  well  to  bring  her  away." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Edward  Coe,  "  she  probably  didn't 
sleep  well  because  she  was  afraid  of  oversleeping  her- 
self. She  looked  perfectly  all  right  yesterday." 


FROM  ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER 


IT  is  the  greatest  mistake  in  the  world  to  imagine 
that,  because  the  Five  Towns  is  an  industrial 
district,  devoted  to  the  manufacture  of  cups  and 
saucers,  marbles  and  door-knobs,  therefore  there  is 
no  luxury  in  it. 

A  writer,  not  yet  deceased,  who  spent  two  nights 
there,  and  wrote  four  hundred  pages  about  it,  has 
committed  himself  to  the  assertion  that  there  are  no 
private  carriages  in  its  streets  —  only  perambulators 
and  tram-cars. 

That  writer's  reputation  is  ruined  in  the  Five 
Towns.  For  the  Five  Towns,  although  continually 
complaining  of  bad  times,  is  immensely  wealthy,  as 
well  as  immensely  poor  —  a  country  of  contrasts,  in- 
deed —  and  private  carriages,  if  they  do  not  abound, 
exist  at  any  rate  in  sufficient  numbers. 

Nay,  more,  automobiles  of  the  most  expensive 
French  and  English  makes  fly  dashingly  along  its 
hilly  roads  and  scatter  in  profusion  the  rich  black 
mud  thereof. 

On  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  last  spring,  such  an 
automobile  stood  outside  the  garden  entrance  of 
Bleakridge  House,  just  half-way  between  Hanbridge 

385 


3 86     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  Bursley.  It  belonged  to  young  Harold  Etches, 
of  Etches,  Limited,  the  great  porcelain  manufac- 
turers. 

It  was  a  20  h.p.  Panhard,  and  was  worth  over  a 
thousand  pounds  as  it  stood  there,  throbbing,  and 
Harold  was  proud  of  it. 

He  was  also  proud  of  his  young  wife,  Maud,  who, 
clad  in  several  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  furs,  had 
taken  her  seat  next  to  the  steering-wheel,  and  was 
waiting  for  Harold  to  mount  by  her  side.  The 
united  ages  of  this  handsome  and  gay  couple  came 
to  less  than  forty-five. 

And  they  owned  the  motor-car,  and  Bleakridge 
House  with  its  ten  bedrooms,  and  another  house  at 
Llandudno,  and  a  controlling  interest  in  Etches,  Lim- 
ited, that  brought  them  in  seven  or  eight  thousand  a 
year.  They  were  a  pretty  tidy  example  of  what 
the  Five  Towns  can  do  when  it  tries  to  be  wealthy. 

At  this  moment,  when  Harold  was  climbing  into 
the  car,  a  shabby  old  man  who  was  walking  down  the 
road,  followed  by  a  boy  carrying  a  carpet-bag, 
stopped  suddenly  and  touched  Harold  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"  Bless  us !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  And  the  boy 
and  the  carpet-bag  halted  behind  him. 

"  What  ?     Uncle  Dan  ?  "  said  Harold. 

"  Uncle  Dan !  "  cried  Maud,  springing  up  with  an 
enchanting  smile.  "  Why,  it's  ages  since " 

"  And  what  d'ye  reckon  ye'n  gotten  here  ?  "  de- 
manded the  old  man. 

"  It's  my  new  car,"  Harold  explained. 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    387 

"  And  ca'st  drive  it,  lad?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  I  should  think  I  could !  "  said  Harold  confi- 
dently. 

"  H'm !  "  commented  the  old  man,  and  then  he 
shook  hands,  and  thoroughly  scrutinised  Maud. 

Now,  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  can  only  be  seen 
and  appreciated  in  a  district  like  the  Five  Towns, 
where  families  spring  into  splendour  out  of  nothing 
in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  generations,  and  as  often 
as  not  sink  back  again  into  nothing  in  the  course  of 
two  generations  more. 

The  Etches  family  is  among  the  best  known  and 
the  widest  spread  in  the  Five  Towns.  It  originated 
in  three  brothers,  of  whom  Daniel  was  the  youngest. 
Daniel  never  married;  the  other  two  did.  Daniel 
was  not  very  fond  of  money;  the  other  two  were,  and 
they  founded  the  glorious  firm  of  Etches.  Harold 
was  the  grandson  of  one  brother,  and  Maud  was  the 
granddaughter  of  the  other.  Consequently,  they 
both  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  Dan,  who  was 
their  great-uncle  —  addressed  as  uncle  "  for  short." 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  snobbery  in  the  Five 
Towns,  but  it  does  not  exist  among  relatives.  The 
relatives  in  danger  of  suffering  by  it  would  never 
stand  it.  Besides,  although  Dan's  income  did  not 
exceed  two  hundred  a  year,  he  was  really  richer  than 
his  grandnephew,  since  Dan  lived  on  half  his  income, 
whereas  Harold,  aided  by  Maud,  lived  on  all  of  his. 

Consequently,  despite  the  vast  difference  in  their 
stations,  clothes,  and  manners,  Daniel  and  his  young 
relatives  met  as  equals.  It  would  have  been  amusing 


388     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

to  see  any  one  —  even  the  Countess  of  Chell,  who 
patronised  the  entire  district  —  attempt  to  patronise 
Dan. 

In  his  time  he  had  been  the  greatest  pigeon-fancier 
in  the  county. 

"  So  you're  paying  a  visit  to  Bursley,  uncle?  "  said 
Maud. 

"  Ay!  "  Dan  replied.  "  I'm  back  i'  owd  Bosley. 
Sarah  —  my  housekeeper,  thou  know'st " 

"Not  dead?" 

"  No.  Her  inna'  dead;  but  her  sister's  dead,  and 
I've  give  her  a  week's  play  [holiday],  and  come 
away.  Rat  Edge'll  see  nowt  o'  me  this  side  Eas- 
ter." 

Rat  Edge  was  the  name  of  the  village,  five  miles 
off,  which  Dan  had  honoured  in  his  declining 
years. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  asked 
Harold. 

"  I'm  going  to  owd  Sam  Shawn's,  by  th'  owd 
church,  to  beg  a  bed." 

"  But  you'll  stop  with  us,  of  course  ?  "  said  Harold. 

"  Nay,  lad,"  said  Dan. 

"  Oh  yes,  uncle,"  Maud  insisted. 

"  Nay,  lass,"  said  Dan. 

"  Indeed,  you  will,  uncle !  "  said  Maud  positively. 
"  If  you  don't,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again." 

She  had  a  charming  fire  in  her  eyes,  had  Maud. 

Daniel,  the  old  bachelor,  yielded  at  once,  but  in 
his  own  style. 

"  I'll  try  it  for  a  night,  lass,"  said  he. 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    389 

Thus  it  occurred  that  the  carpet-bag  was  carried 
into  Bleakridge  House,  and  that  after  some  delay 
Harold  and  Maud  carried  off  Uncle  Dan  with  them 
in  the  car.  He  sat  in  the  luxurious  tonneau  behind, 
and  Maud  had  quitted  her  husband  in  order  to  join 
him.  Possibly  she  liked  the  humorous  wrinkles 
round  his  grey  eyes.  Or  it  may  have  been  the  eyes 
themselves.  And  yet  Dan  was  nearer  seventy  than 
sixty. 

The  car  passed  everything  on  the  road;  it  seemed 
to  be  overtaking  electric  trams  all  the  time. 

"  So  ye'n  been  married  a  year?  "  said  Uncle  Dan, 
smiling  at  Maud. 

"Oh  yes;  a  year  and  three  days.  We're  quite 
used  to  it." 

"  Us'n  be  in  h — 11  in  a  minute,  wench !  "  exclaimed 
Dan,  calmly  changing  the  topic,  as  Harold  swung 
the  car  within  an  inch  of  a  brewer's  dray,  and 
skidded  slightly  in  the  process.  No  anti-skidding 
device  would  operate  in  that  generous,  oozy  mud. 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  in  Hanbridge 
the  next  minute  —  Hanbridge,  the  centre  of  the  re- 
ligions, the  pleasures,  and  the  vices  of  the  Five 
Towns. 

"  Bless  us!  "  said  the  old  man.  "  It's  fifteen  year 
and  more  since  I  were  here." 

"  Harold,"  said  Maud,  "  let's  stop  at  the  Picca- 
dilly Cafe  and  have  some  tea." 

"  Cafe?  "  asked  Dan.     "  What  be  that?  " 

"  It's  a  kind  of  pub."  Harold  threw  the  explana- 
tion over  his  shoulder  as  he  brought  the  car  up  with 


390    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

swift  dexterity  in  front  of  the  Misses  Callear's  newly- 
opened  afternoon  tea-rooms. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  it's  a  pub,"  said  Uncle  Dan,  "  I 
dunna  object." 

He  frankly  admitted,  on  entering,  that  he  had 
never  before  seen  a  pub  full  of  little  tables  and  white 
cloths,  and  flowers,  and  young  women,  and  silver  tea- 
pots, and  cake-stands.  And  though  he  did  pour  his 
tea  into  his  saucer,  he  was  sufficiently  at  home  there 
to  address  the  younger  Miss  Callear  as  "  young 
woman,"  and  to  inform  her  that  her  beverage  was 
lacking  in  Orange  Pekoe.  And  the  Misses  Callear, 
who  conferred  a  favour  on  their  customers  by  serv- 
ing them,  didn't  like  it. 

He  became  reminiscent. 

"Ay!"  he  said,  "when  I  left  th'  Five  Towns 
fifty-two  years  sin'  to  go  weaving  i'  Derbyshire  wi' 
my  mother's  brother,  tay  were  ten  shilling  a  pun'. 
Us  had  it  when  us  were  sick  —  which  wasna'  often. 
We  worked  too  hard  for  be  sick.  Hafe  past  five  i' 
th'  morning  till  eight  of  a  night,  and  then  Saturday 
afternoon  walk  ten  mile  to  Glossop  with  a  week's 
work  on  ye'  back,  and  home  again  wi'  th'  brass. 

"  They've  lost  th'  habit  of  work  now-a-days,  seem- 
ingly," he  went  on,  as  the  car  moved  off  once  more, 
but  slowly,  because  of  the  vast  crowds  emerging 
from  the  Knype  football  ground.  "  It's  football, 
Saturday;  bands  of  a  Sunday;  football,  Monday;  ill 
i'  bed  and  getting  round,  Tuesday;  do  a  bit  o'  work 
Wednesday;  football,  Thursday;  draw  wages  Friday 
night;  and  football,  Saturday.  And  wages  higher 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    391 

than  ever.  It's  that  as  beats  me  —  wages  higher 
than  ever 

"  Ye  canna'  smoke  with  any  comfort  i'  these  cars," 
he  added,  when  Harold  had  got  clear  of  the  crowds 
and  was  letting  out.  He  regretfully  put  his  pipe  in 
his  pocket. 

Harold  skirted  the  whole  length  of  the  Five 
Towns  from  south  to  north,  at  an  average  rate  of 
perhaps  thirty  miles  an  hour;  and  quite  soon  the 
party  found  itself  on  the  outer  side  of  Turnhill,  and 
descending  the  terrible  Clough  Bank,  three  miles 
long,  and  of  a  steepness  resembling  the  steepness  of 
the  side  of  a  house. 

The  car  had  warmed  to  its  business,  and  Harold 
took  them  down  that  declivity  in  a  manner  which 
startled  even  Maud,  who  long  ago  had  resigned  her- 
self to  the  fact  that  she  was  tied  for  life  to  a  young 
man  for  whom  the  word  "  danger  "  had  no  meaning. 

At  the  bottom  they  had  a  severe  skid;  but  as  there 
was  plenty  of  room  for  eccentricities,  nothing  hap- 
pened except  that  the  car  tried  to  climb  the  hill  again. 

"  Well,  if  I'd  known,"  observed  Uncle  Dan,  "  if 
I'd  guessed  as  you  were  reservin'  this  treat  for  th' 
owd  uncle,  I'd  ha'  walked." 

The  Etches  blood  in  him  was  pretty  cool,  but  his 
nerve  had  had  a  shaking. 

Then  Harold  could  not  restart  the  car.  The 
engine  had  stopped  of  its  own  accord,  and,  though 
Harold  lavished  much  physical  force  on  the  magic 
handle  in  front,  nothing  would  budge.  Maud  and 
the  old  man  both  got  down,  the  latter  with  relief. 


392     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Stuck,  eh  ?  "  said  Dan.     "  No  steam  ?  " 

"That's  it!"  Harold  cried,  slapping  his  leg. 
"  What  an  ass  I  am !  She  wants  petrol,  that's  all. 
Maud,  pass  a  couple  of  cans.  They're  under  the 
seat  there,  behind.  No;  on  the  left,  child." 

However,  there  was  no  petrol  in  the  car. 

"  That's  that  cursed  Durand  "  (Durand  being  the 
new  chauffeur  —  French,  to  match  the  car).  "I 
told  him  not  to  forget.  Last  thing  I  said  to  the 
fool!  Maud,  I  shall  chuck  that  chap!  " 

"  Can't  we  do  anything?  "  asked  Maud  stiffly,  put- 
ting her  lips  together. 

"  We  can  walk  back  to  Turnhill  and  buy  some 
petrol,  some  of  us !  "  snapped  Harold.  "  That's 
what  we  can  do!  " 

"  Sithee,"  said  Uncle  Dan.  "  There's  the  Plume 
o'  Feathers  half-a-mile  back.  Th'  landlord's  a 
friend  o'  mine.  I  can  borrow  his  mare  and  trap, 
and  drive  to  Turnhill  and  fetch  some  o'  thy  petrol, 
as  thou  calls  it." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  uncle." 

"  Nay,  lad,  I'm  doing  it  for  please  mysen.  But 
Maud  mun  come  wi'  me.  Give  us  th'  money  for  th' 
petrol,  as  thou  calls  it." 

"Then  I  must  stay  here  alone?"  Harold  com- 
plained. 

"  Seemingly,"  the  old  man  agreed. 

After  a  few  words  on  pigeons,  and  a  glass  of  beer, 
Dan  had  no  difficulty  whatever  in  borrowing  his 
friend's  white  mare  and  black  trap.  He  himself 
helped  in  the  harnessing.  Just  as  he  was  driving 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    393 

triumphantly  away,  with  that  delicious  vision  Maud 
on  his  left  hand  and  a  stable-boy  behind,  he  reined 
the  mare  in. 

"  Give  us  a  couple  o'  penny  smokes,  matey,"  he 
said  to  the  landlord,  and  lit  one. 

The  mare  could  go,  and  Dan  could  make  her  go, 
and  she  did  go.  And  then  the  whole  turn-out  looked 
extremely  dashing  when,  ultimately,  it  dashed  into 
the  glare  of  the  acetylene  lamps  which  the  deserted 
Harold  had  lighted  on  his  car. 

The  red  end  of  a  penny  smoke  in  the  gloom  of  twi- 
light looks  exactly  as  well  as  the  red  end  of  an  Ha- 
vana. Moreover,  the  mare  caracolled  ornamentally 
in  the  rays  of  the  acetylene,  and  the  stable-boy  had 
to  skid  down  quick  and  hold  her  head. 

"  How  much  didst  say  this  traction-engine  had 
cost  thee?"  Dan  asked,  while  Harold  was  pouring 
the  indispensable  fluid  into  the  tank. 

"  Not  far  off  twelve  hundred,"  answered  Harold 
lightly.  "  Keep  that  cigar  away  from  here." 

"  Fifteen  pun'  'ud  buy  this  mare,"  Dan  announced 
to  the  road. 

"Now,  all  aboard!"  Harold  commanded  at 
length.  "  How  much  shall  I  give  to  the  boy  for  the 
horse  and  trap,  uncle?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Dan.  "  I  havena'  finished  wi' 
that  mare  yet.  Didst  think  I  was  going  to  trust  my- 
sen  i'  that  thing  o'  yours  again?  I'll  meet  thee  at 
Bleakridge,  lad." 

"  And  I  think  I'll  go  with  uncle,  too,  Harold,"  said 
Maud. 


394    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Whereupon  they  both  got  into  the  trap. 

Harold  stared  at  them,  astounded. 

"  But  I  say "  he  protested,  beginning  to  be 

angry. 

Uncle  Dan  drove  away  like  the  wind,  and  the 
stable-boy  had  all  he  could  do  to  clamber  up  behind. 

II 

Now,  at  dinner-time  that  night,  in  the  dining-room 
of  the  commodious  and  well-appointed  mansion  of 
the  youngest  and  richest  of  the  Etches,  Uncle  Dan 
stood  waiting  and  waiting  for  his  host  and  hostess  to 
appear.  He  was  wearing  a  Turkish  tasselled  smok- 
ing-cap  to  cover  his  baldness,  and  he  had  taken  off 
his  jacket  and  put  on  his  light,  loose  overcoat  instead 
of  it,  since  that  was  a  comfortable  habit  of  his. 

He  sent  one  of  the  two  parlourmaids  up-stairs  for 
his  carpet  slippers  out  of  the  carpet-bag,  and  he 
passed  part  of  the  time  in  changing  his  boots  for  his 
slippers  in  front  of  the  fire.  Then  at  length,  just  as 
a  maid  was  staggering  out  under  the  load  of  those 
enormous  boots,  Harold  appeared,  very  correct,  but 
alone. 

"  Awfully  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  uncle,"  said 
Harold,  "  but  Maud  isn't  well.  She  isn't  coming 
down  to-night." 

"  What's  up  wi'  Maud?" 

"Oh,  goodness  knows!"  responded  Harold 
gloomily.  "  She's  not  well  —  that's  all." 

"  H'm !  "  said  Dan.     "  Well,  let's  peck  a  bit." 

So  they  sat  down  and  began  to  peck  a  bit,  aided  by 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    395 

the  two  maids.  Dan  pecked  with  prodigious  enthu- 
siasm, but  Harold  was  not  in  good  pecking  form. 
And  as  the  dinner  progressed,  and  Harold  sent  dish 
after  dish  up  to  his  wife,  and  his  wife  returned  dish 
after  dish  untouched,  Harold's  gloom  communicated 
itself  to  the  house  in  general. 

One  felt  that  if  one  had  penetrated  to  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  furthest  attic,  a  little  parcel  of  spiritual 
gloom  would  have  already  arrived  there.  The  sense 
of  disaster  was  in  the  abode.  The  cook  was  proph- 
esying like  anything  in  the  kitchen.  Durand  in 
the  garage  was  meditating  upon  such  of  his  master's 
pithy  remarks  as  he  had  been  able  to  understand. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  and  the  coffee  and 
liqueurs  and  cigars  had  been  served,  and  the  two 
maids  had  left  the  dining-room,  Dan  turned  to  his 
grandnephew  and  said  — 

'  There's  things  as  has  changed  since  my  time, 
lad,  but  human  nature  inna'  one  on  'em." 

''  What  do  you  mean,  uncle  ? "  Harold  asked 
awkwardly,  self-consciously. 

"  I  mean  as  thou'rt  a  dashed  foo' !  " 

"Why?" 

"  But  thou'lt  get  better  o'  that,"  said  Dan. 

Harold  smiled  sheepishly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,  uncle," 
said  he. 

'  Yes,  thou  dost,  lad.  Thou'st  been  and  quar- 
relled wi'  Maud.  And  I  say  thou'rt  a  dashed 
foo' !  " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact "  Harold  stammered. 


396     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  And  ye've  never  quarrelled  afore.  This  is  th' 
fust  time.  And  so  thou'st  under  th'  impression  that 
th'  world's  come  to  an  end.  Well,  th'  fust  quarrel 
were  bound  to  come  sooner  or  later." 

"  It   isn't   really   a   quarrel  —  it's   about  nothing 


"  I  know  —  I  know,"  Dan  broke  in.  "  They  al- 
ways are.  As  for  it  not  being  a  quarrel,  lad,  call  it 
a  picnic  if  thou'st  a  mind.  But  her's  sulking  up- 
stairs, and  thou'rt  sulking  down  here." 

"  She  was  cross  about  the  petrol,"  said  Harold, 
glad  to  relieve  his  mind.  "  I  hadn't  a  notion  she 
was  cross  till  I  went  up  into  the  bedroom.  Not  a 
notion!  I  explained  to  her  it  wasn't  my  fault.  I 
argued  it  out  with  her  very  calmly.  I  did  my  best 
to  reason  with  her " 

"  Listen  here,  young  'un,"  Dan  interrupted  him. 
"How  old  art?" 

"  Twenty-three." 

"  Thou  may'st  live  another  fifty  years.  If  thou'st 
a  mind  to  spend  'em  i'  peace,  thoud'st  better  give  up 
reasoning  wi'  women.  Give  it  up  right  now!  It's 
worse  nor  drink,  as  a  habit.  Kiss  'em,  cuddle  'em, 
beat  'em.  But  dunna'  reason  wi'  'em." 

"What  should  you  have  done  in  my  place?" 
Harold  asked. 

"  I  should  ha'  told  Maud  her  was  quite  right." 

"  But  she  wasn't." 

"  Then  I  should  ha'  winked  at  mysen  i'  th'  glass," 
continued  Dan,  "  and  kissed  her." 

"  That's  all  very  well " 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    397 

"  Naturally,"  said  Dan,  "  her  wanted  to  show  off 
that  car  i'  front  o'  me.  That  was  but  natural.  And 
her  was  vexed  when  it  went  wrong." 

"  But  I  told  her  —  I  explained  to  her." 

44  Her's  a  handsome  little  wench,"  Dan  proceeded. 
"  And  a  good  heart.  But  thou'st  got  ten  times  her 
brains,  lad,  and  thou  ought'st  to  ha'  given  in." 

44  But  I  can't  always  be " 

"  It's  allus  them  as  gives  in  as  has  their  own  way. 
I  remember  her  grandfather  —  he  was  th'  eldest  o' 
us  —  he  quarrelled  wi'  his  wife  afore  they'd  been 
married  a  week,  and  she  raced  him  all  over  th'  town 


"With  a  besom,  uncle?"  exclaimed  Harold, 
shocked  at  these  family  disclosures. 

"  Wi'  a  besom,"  said  Dan.  "  That  come  o'  rea- 
soning wi'  a  woman.  It  taught  him  a  lesson,  I  can 
tell  thee.  And  afterwards  he  always  said  as  nowt 
was  worth  a  quarrel  —  nowt!  And  it  isna'." 

"  I  don't  think  Maud  will  race  me  all  over  the 
town  with  a  besom,"  Harold  remarked  reflectively. 

44  There's  worse  things  nor  that,"  said  Dan. 
"  Look  thee  here,  get  out  o'  th'  house  for  a'  'our. 
Go  to  th'  Conservative  Club,  and  then  come  back. 
Dost  understand?  " 

"But  what " 

44  Hook  it,  lad  I  "  said  Dan  curtly. 

And  just  as  Harold  was  leaving  the  room,  like  a 
school-boy,  he  called  him  in  again. 

44 1  havena'  told  thee,  Harold,  as  I'm  subject  to 
attacks.  I'm  getting  up  in  years.  I  go  off  like.  It 


398     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

isna'  fits;  but  I  go  off.  And  if  it  should  happen 
while  I'm  here,  dunna'  be  alarmed." 

"  What  are  we  to  do?  " 

"  Do  nothing.  I  come  round  in  a  minute  or  two. 
Whatever  ye  do,  dunna'  give  me  brandy.  It  might 
kill  me  —  so  th'  doctor  says.  I'm  only  telling  thee 
in  case." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  have  an  attack,"  said 
Harold. 

"  It's  a  hundred  to  one  I  dunna',"  said  Dan. 

And  Harold  departed. 

Soon  afterwards  Uncle  Dan  wandered  into  a 
kitchen  full  of  servants. 

"  Show  me  th'  missis's  bedroom,  one  on  ye,"  he 
said  to  the  crowd. 

And  presently  he  was  knocking  at  Maud's  door. 

"Maudie!" 

"  Who  is  it?  "  came  a  voice. 

"It's  thy  owd  uncle.     Can'st  spare  a  minute?" 

Maud  appeared  at  the  door,  smiling,  and  arrayed 
in  a  peignoir. 

"  He's  gone  out,"  said  Dan,  implying  scorn  of  the 
person  who  had  gone  out.  "  Wilt  come  down- 
stairs?" 

"Where's  he  gone  to?"  Maud  demanded. 

She  didn't  even  pretend  she  was  ill. 

"  Th'  Club,"  said  Dan. 

And  in  about  a  hundred  seconds  or  so  he  had  her 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  she  was  actually  pouring 
out  gin  for  him.  She  looked  ravishing  in  that  pel- 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    399 

gnoir,  especially  as  she  was  munching  an  apple,  and 
balancing  herself  on  the  arm  of  a  chair. 

"  So  he's  been  quarrelling  with  ye,  Maud?  "  Dan 
began. 

"  No;  not  quarrelling,  uncle." 

'  Well,  call  it  what  ye'n  a  mind,"  said  Dan. 
"  Call  it  a  prayer-meeting.  I  didn't  notice  as  ye 
came  down  for  supper  —  dinner,  as  ye  call  it." 

"  It  was  like  this,  uncle,"  she  said.  "  Poor  Harry 
was  very  angry  with  himself  about  that  petrol.  Of 
course,  he  wanted  the  car  to  go  well  while  you  were 
in  it;  and  he  came  up-stairs  and  grumbled  at  me 
for  leaving  him  all  alone  and  driving  home  with 
you." 

"Oh,  did  he?"  exclaimed  Dan. 

"  Yes.  I  explained  to  him  that  of  course  I 
couldn't  leave  you  all  alone.  Then  he  got  hot.  I 
kept  quite  calm.  I  reasoned  it  out  with  him  as 
quietly  as  I  could " 

"  Maudie,  Maudie,"  protested  the  old  man, 
"  thou'rt  th'  prettiest  wench  i'  this  town,  though  I  am 
thy  great-uncle,  and  thou'st  got  plenty  o'  brains  —  a 
sight  more  than  that  husband  o'  thine." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  uncle?  " 

"  Ay,  but  thou  hasna'  made  use  o'  'em  to-night. 
Thou'rt  a  foolish  wench,  wench.  At  thy  time  o'  life, 
and  after  a  year  o'  th'  married  state,  thou  ought'st  to 
know  better  than  reason  wi'  a  man  in  a  temper." 

"  But,  really,  uncle,  it  was  so  absurd  of  Harold, 
wasn't  it?" 


400    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Ay !  "  said  Dan.  "  But  why  didst-na'  give  in 
and  kiss  him,  and  smack  his  face  for  him?  " 

"  There  was  nothing  to  give  in  about,  uncle." 

"  There  never  is,"  said  Dan.  "  There  never  is. 
That's  the  point.  Still,  thou'rt  nigh  crying,  wench." 

"  I'm  not,  uncle,"  she  contradicted,  the  tears  fall- 
ing on  to  the  apple. 

"  And  Harold's  using  bad  language  all  up  Trafal- 
gar Road,  I  lay,"  Dan  added. 

"  It  was  all  Harold's  fault,"  said  Maud. 

"  Why,  in  course  it  were  Harold's  fault.  But 
nowt's  worth  a  quarrel,  my  dear  —  nowt.  I  remem- 
ber Harold's  grandfeyther  —  he  were  th'  second  of 
us,  your  grandfeyther  were  the  eldest,  and  I  were 
the  youngest  —  I  remember  Harold's  grandfeyther 
chasing  his  wife  all  over  th'  town  wi'  a  besom  a 
week  after  they  were  married." 

"With  a  besom!  "  murmured  Maud,  pained  and 
forgetting  to  cry.  "  Harold's  grandfather,  not 
mine?  " 

"'Wi'  a  besom,"  Dan  repeated,  nodding.  "  They 
never  quarrelled  again  —  ne'er  again.  Th'  old  wo- 
man allus  said  after  that  as  quarrels  were  for  fools. 
And  her  was  right." 

"  I  don't  see  Harold  chasing  me  across  Bursley 
with  a  besom,"  said  Maud  primly.  "  But  what  you 
say  is  quite  right,  you  dear  old  uncle.  Men  are 
queer  —  I  mean  husbands.  You  can't  argue  with 
them.  You'd  much  better  give  in " 

"  And  have  your  own  way  after  all." 

"  And  perhaps  Harold  was " 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    401 

Harold's  step  could  be  heard  in  the  hall. 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Maud.  "What  shall  I 
do?" 

"  I'm  not  feeling  very  well,"  whispered  Uncle  Dan 
weakly.  "  I  have  these  'ere  attacks  sometimes. 
There's  only  one  thing  as'll  do  me  any  good  — 
brandy." 

And  his  head  fell  over  one  side  of  the  chair,  and 
he  looked  precisely  like  a  corpse. 

"Maud,  what  are  you  doing?"  almost  shouted 
Harold,  when  he  came  into  the  room. 

She  was  putting  a  liqueur-glass  to  Uncle  Dan's 
lips. 

"  Oh,  Harold,"  she  cried,  "  uncle's  had  an  attack 
of  some  sort.  I'm  giving  him  some  brandy." 

"  But  you  mustn't  give  him  brandy,"  said  Harold 
authoritatively  to  her. 

"  But  I  must  give  him  brandy,"  said  Maud. 
"  He  told  me  that  brandy  was  the  only  thing  to  save 
him." 

"Nonsense,  child!"  Harold  persisted.  "Uncle 
told  me  all  about  these  attacks.  They're  perfectly 
harmless  so  long  as  he  doesn't  have  brandy.  The 
doctors  have  warned  him  that  brandy  will  be  fatal." 

"  Harold,  you  are  absolutely  mistaken.  Don't 
you  understand  that  uncle  has  only  this  minute  told 
me  that  he  must  have  brandy?  " 

And  she  again  approached  the  glass  to  the  pale 
lips  of  the  old  man.  His  tasselled  Turkish  smoking- 
cap  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and  the  hemisphere  of  his 
bald  head  glittered  under  the  gas. 


402     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Maud,  I  forbid  you !  "  And  Harold  put  a  hand 
on  the  glass.  "  It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 
You  must  have  misunderstood  uncle." 

"  It  was  you  who  misunderstood  uncle,"  said 
Maud.  "  Of  course,  if  you  mean  to  prevent  me  by 
brute  force " 

They  both  paused  and  glanced  at  Daniel,  and 
then  at  each  other. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  dearest,"  said  Harold,  in 
a  new  tone. 

"  No,  dearest,"  said  Maud,  also  in  the  new  tone. 
"  I  expect  you  are  right.  I  must  have  misunder- 
stood." 

"  No,  no,  Maud.  Give  him  the  brandy  by  all 
means.  I've  no  doubt  you're  right." 

"  But  if  you  think  I'd  better  not  give  it  him " 

"  But  I  would  prefer  you  to  give  it  him,  dearest. 
It  isn't  likely  you  would  be  mistaken  in  a  thing  like 
that." 

"  I  would  prefer  to  be  guided  by  you,  dearest," 
said  Maud. 

So  they  went  on  for  several  minutes,  each  giving 
way  to  the  other  in  the  most  angelic  manner. 

"  And  meantime  I'm  supposed  to  be  dying,  am 
I?"  roared  Uncle  Dan,  suddenly  sitting  up. 
"  You'd  let  th'  old  uncle  peg  out  while  you  practise 
his  precepts!  A  nice  pair  you  make!  I  thought 
for  see  which  on  ye  'ud  give  way  to  th'  other,  but  I 
didna'  anticipate  as  both  on  ye  'ud  be  ready  to  sacri- 
fice my  life  for  th'  sake  o'  domestic  peace." 

"  But,  uncle,"  they  both  said  later,  amid  the  uni- 


ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER    403 

versal  and  yet  rather  shamefaced  peace  rejoicings, 
"  you  said  nothing  was  worth  a  quarrel." 

"  And  I  said  right,"  answered  Dan;  "  I  said  right. 
"  Th'  Divorce  Court  is  full  o'  fools  as  have  begun 
married  life  by  trying  to  convince  the  other  fool,  in- 
stead o'  humouring  him  —  or  her.  Kiss  us,  Maud." 


that  you're  saying  about  mur- 
der? "  asked  Mrs.  Cheswardlne  as  she 
came    into   the   large    drawing-room, 
carrying  the  supper-tray. 

"  Put  it  down  here,"  said  her  husband,  referring 
to  the  supper-tray,  and  pointing  to  a  little  table  which 
stood  two  legs  off  and  two  legs  on  the  hearthrug. 

'  That  apron  suits  you  immensely,"  murmured 
Woodruff,  the  friend  of  the  family,  as  he  stretched 
his  long  limbs  into  the  fender  towards  the  fire, 
further  even  than  the  long  limbs  of  Cheswardine. 
Each  man  occupied  an  easy-chair  on  either  side  of 
the  hearth;  each  was  very  tall,  and  each  was  forty. 

Mrs.  Cheswardine,  with  a  whisk  infinitely  grace- 
ful, set  the  tray  on  the  table,  took  a  seat  behind  it  on 
a  chair  that  looked  like  a  toddling  grand-nephew  of 
the  arm-chairs,  and  nervously  smoothed  out  the 
apron. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  apron  did  suit  her  im- 
mensely. It  is  astounding,  delicious,  adorable,  the 
effect  of  a  natty  little  domestic  apron  suddenly  put 
on  over  an  elaborate  and  costly  frock,  especially  when 
you  can  hear  the  rustle  of  a  silk  petticoat  beneath, 

404 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN  405 

and  more  especially  when  the  apron  is  smoothed  out 
by  jewelled  fingers.  Every  man  knows  this.  Every 
woman  knows  it.  Mrs.  Cheswardine  knew  it.  In 
such  matters  Mrs.  Cheswardine  knew  exactly  what 
she  was  about.  She  delighted,  when  her  husband 
brought  Woodruff  in  late  of  a  night,  as  he  fre- 
quently did  after  a  turn  at  the  club,  to  prepare  with 
her  own  hands  —  the  servants  being  in  bed  —  a  lit- 
tle snack  of  supper  for  them.  Tomato  sandwiches, 
for  instance,  miraculously  thin,  together  with  cham- 
pagne or  Bass.  The  men  preferred  Bass,  naturally, 
but  if  Mrs.  Cheswardine  had  a  fancy  for  a  sip  of 
champagne  out  of  her  husband's  tumbler,  Bass  was 
not  forthcoming. 

To-night  it  was  champagne. 

Woodruff  opened  it,  as  he  always  did,  and  in- 
voluntarily poured  out  a  libation  on  the  hearth,  as 
he  almost  always  did.  Good-natured,  ungainly, 
long-suffering  men  seldom  achieve  the  art  of  open- 
ing champagne. 

Mrs.  Cheswardine  tapped  her  pink-slippered  foot 
impatiently. 

"  You're  all  nerves  to-night,"  Woodruff  laughed, 
and  "  you've  made  me  nervous."  And  at  length  he 
got  some  of  the  champagne  into  a  tumbler. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  Mrs.  Cheswardine  contradicted 
him. 

"  Yes,  you  are,  Vera,"  Woodruff  insisted  calmly. 

She  smiled.  The  use  of  that  elegant  Christian 
name,  with  its  faint  suggestion  of  Russian  arch- 
duchesses, had  a  strange  effect  on  her,  particularly 


406     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

from  the  lips  of  Woodruff.  She  was  proud  of  It, 
and  of  her  surname  too  —  one  of  the  oldest  sur- 
names in  the  Five  Towns.  The  syllables  of 
"  Vera "  invariably  soothed  her,  like  a  charm. 
Woodruff,  and  Cheswardine  also,  had  called  her 
Vera  during  the  whole  of  her  life;  and  she  was 
thirty.  They  had  all  three  lived  in  different  houses 
at  the  top  end  of  Trafalgar  Road,  Bursley.  Wood- 
ruff fell  in  love  with  her  first,  when  she  was  eighteen, 
but  with  no  practical  results.  He  was  a  brown- 
haired  man,  personable  despite  his  ungainliness,  but 
he  failed  to  perceive  that  to  worship  from  afar  off 
is  not  the  best  way  to  capture  a  young  woman  with 
large  eyes  and  an  emotional  disposition.  Cheswar- 
dine, who  had  a  black  beard,  simply  came  along  and 
married  the  little  thing.  She  fluttered  down  on  to 
his  shoulders  like  a  pigeon.  She  adored  him,  feared 
him,  cooed  to  him,  worried  him,  and  knew  that  there 
were  depths  of  his  mind  which  she  would  never 
plumb.  Woodruff,  after  being  best  man,  went  on 
loving,  meekly  and  yet  philosophically,  and  found 
his  chief  joy  in  just  these  suppers.  The  arrange- 
ment suited  Vera;  and  as  for  the  husband  and  the 
hopeless  admirer,  they  had  always  been  fast  friends. 

"  I  asked  you  what  you  were  saying  about  mur- 
der," said  Vera  sharply,  "  but  it  seems " 

"  Oh!  did  you?  "  Woodruff  apologised.  "  I  was 
saying  that  murder  isn't  such  an  impossible  thing  as 
it  appears.  Any  one  might  commit  a  murder." 

"  Then  you  want  to  defend  Harrisford?  Do  you 
hear  what  he  says,  Stephen  ?  " 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    407 

The  notorious  and  terrible  Harrisford  murders 
were  agitating  the  Five  Towns  that  November. 
People  read,  talked,  and  dreamt  murder;  for  several 
weeks  they  took  murder  to  all  their  meals. 

"  He  doesn't  want  to  defend  Harrisford  at  all," 
said  Cheswardine,  with  a  superior  masculine  air, 
"  and  of  course  any  one  might  commit  a  murder.  I 
might." 

"  Stephen !     How  horrid  you  are !  " 

"  You  might,  even  I  "  said  Woodruff,  gazing  at 
Vera. 

"  Charlie !     Why,  the  blood  alone " 

"  There  isn't  always  blood,"  said  the  oracular 
husband. 

"  Listen  here,"  proceeded  Woodruff,  who  read 
variously  and  enjoyed  philosophical  speculation. 
"  Supposing  that  by  just  taking  thought,  by  just 
wishing  it,  an  Englishman  could  kill  a  mandarin  in 
China  and  make  himself  rich  for  life,  without  any- 
body knowing  anything  about  it  1  How  many  man- 
darins do  you  suppose  there  would  be  left  in  China 
at  the  end  of  a  week?  " 

"  At  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours,  rather,"  said 
Cheswardine  grimly. 

"  Not  one,"  said  Woodruff. 

"  But  that's  absurd,"  Vera  objected,  disturbed. 
When  these  two  men  began  their  philosophical  dis- 
cussions they  always  succeeded  in  disturbing  her. 
She  hated  to  see  life  in  a  queer  light.  She  hated  to 
think. 

"  It  isn't  absurd,"  Woodruff  replied.     "  It  simply 


4o8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

shows  that  what  prevents  wholesale  murder  is  not 
the  wickedness  of  it,  but  the  fear  of  being  found 
out,  and  the  general  mess,  and  seeing  the  corpse, 
and  so  on." 

Vera  shuddered. 

"  And  I'm  not  sure,"  Woodruff  proceeded,  "  that 
murder  is  so  very  much  more  wicked  than  lots  of 
other  things." 

"  Usury,  for  instance,"  Cheswardine  put  in. 

"  Or  bigamy,"  said  Woodruff. 

"  But  an  Englishman  couldn't  kill  a  mandarin  in 
China  by  just  wishing  it,"  said  Vera,  looking  up. 

"  How  do  we  know?  "  said  Woodruff,  in  his  pa- 
tient voice.  "  How  do  we  know?  You  remember 
what  I  was  telling  you  about  thought-transference 
last  week.  It  was  in  Borderland." 

Vera  felt  as  if  there  was  no  more  solid  ground  to 
stand  on,  and  it  angered  her  to  be  plunging  about 
in  a  bog. 

"  I  think  it's  simply  silly,"  she  remarked.  "  No, 
thanks." 

She  said  "  No,  thanks  "  to  her  husband,  when  he 
tendered  his  glass. 

He  moved  the  glass  still  closer  to  her  lips. 

"  I  said  '  No,  thanks,'  "  she  repeated  drily. 

"  Just  a  mouthful,"  he  urged. 

"  I'm  not  thirsty." 

"  Then  you'd  better  go  to  bed,"  said  he. 

He  had  a  habit  of  sending  her  to  bed  abruptly. 
She  did  not  dislike  it.  But  she  had  various  ways  of 
going.  To-night  it  was  the  way  of  an  archduchess. 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    409 

ii 

Woodruff,  in  stating  that  Vera  was  all  nerves  that 
evening,  was  quite  right.  She  was.  And  neither 
her  husband  nor  Woodruff  knew  the  reason. 

The  reason  had  to  do  most  intimately  with  frocks. 

Vera  had  been  married  ten  years.  But  no  one 
would  have  guessed  it,  to  watch  her  girlish  figure 
and  her  birdlike  ways.  You  see,  she  was  the  only 
child  in  the  house.  She  often  bitterly  regretted  the 
absence  of  offspring  to  the  name  and  honour  of 
Cheswardine.  She  envied  other  wives  their  babies. 
She  doted  on  babies.  She  said  continually  that  in 
her  deliberate  opinion  the  proper  mission  of  women 
was  babies.  She  was  the  sort  of  woman  that  regards 
a  cathedral  as  a  place  built  especially  to  sit  in  and 
dream  soft  domestic  dreams;  the  sort  of  woman  that 
adores  music  simply  because  it  makes  her  dream. 
And  Vera's  brown  studies,  which  were  frequent,  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  babies.  But  as  babies  amused 
themselves  by  coming  down  the  chimneys  of  all  the 
other  houses  in  Bursley,  and  avoiding  her  house,  she 
sought  comfort  in  frocks.  She  made  the  best  of  her- 
self. And  it  was  a  good  best.  Her  figure  was  as 
near  perfect  as  a  woman's  can  be,  and  then  there 
were  those  fine  emotional  eyes,  and  that  fluttering- 
ness  of  the  pigeon,  and  an  ever-changing  charm  of 
gesture.  Vera  had  become  the  best-dressed  woman 
in  Bursley.  And  that  is  saying  something.  Her 
husband  was  wealthy,  with  an  increasing  income, 
though,  of  course,  as  an  earthenware  manufacturer, 


4io    MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  the  son  and  grandson  of  an  earthenware  manu- 
facturer, he  joined  heartily  in  the  general  Five 
Towns  lamentation  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
money  to  be  made  out  of  "  pots."  He  liked  to 
have  a  well-dressed  woman  about  the  house,  and  he 
allowed  her  an  incredible  allowance,  the  amount  of 
which  was  breathed  with  awe  among  Vera's  friends ; 
a  hundred  a  year,  in  fact.  He  paid  it  to  her  quar- 
terly, by  cheque.  Such  was  his  method. 

Now  a  ball  was  to  be  given  by  the  members  of 
the  Ladies'  Hockey  Club  (or  such  of  them  as  had 
not  been  maimed  for  life  in  the  pursuit  of  this  noble 
pastime)  on  the  very  night  after  the  conversation 
about  murder.  Vera  belonged  to  the  Hockey  Club 
(in  a  purely  ornamental  sense),  and  she  had  pro- 
cured a  frock  for  the  ball  which  was  calculated  to 
crown  her  reputation  as  a  mirror  of  elegance.  The 
skirt  had  —  but  no  (see  the  columns  of  the  Stafford- 
shire Signal  for  the  pth  November,  1901).  The 
mischief  was  that  the  gown  lacked,  for  its  final  per- 
fection, one  particular  thing,  and  that  particular 
thing  was  separated  from  Vera  by  the  glass  front 
of  Brunt's  celebrated  shop  at  Hanbridge.  Vera 
could  have  managed  without  it.  The  gown  would 
still  have  been  brilliant  without  it.  But  Vera  had 
seen  it,  and  she  wanted  it. 

Its  cost  was  a  guinea. 

Well,  you  will  say,  what  is  a  guinea  to  a  dainty 
creature  with  a  hundred  a  year?  Let  her  go  and 
buy  the  article.  The  point  is  that  she  couldn't,  be- 
cause she  had  only  six  and  sevenpence  left  in  the 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    411 

wide  world.  (And  six  weeks  to  Christmas!)  She 
had  squandered  —  oh,  soul  above  money !  —  twenty- 
five  pounds,  and  more  than  twenty-five  pounds,  since 
the  29th  of  September.  Well,  you  will  say,  credit, 
in  other  words,  tick?  No,  no,  no!  The  giant 
Stephen  absolutely  and  utterly  forbade  her  to  pro- 
cure anything  whatever  on  credit.  She  was  afraid 
of  him.  She  knew  just  how  far  she  could  go  with 
Stephen.  He  was  great  and  terrible.  Well,  you 
will  say,  why  couldn't  she  blandish  and  cajole  Stephen 
for  a  sovereign  or  so?  Impossible!  She  had  a 
hundred  a  year  on  the  clear  understanding  that  it 
was  never  exceeded  nor  anticipated.  Well,  you  will 
discreetly  hint,  there  are  certain  devices  known  to 
housewives.  .  .  .  Hush!  Vera  had  already 
employed  them.  Six  and  sevenpence  was  not 
merely  all  that  remained  to  her  of  her  dress  allow- 
ance; it  was  all  that  remained  to  her  of  her  house- 
hold allowance  till  the  next  Monday. 

Hence  her  nerves. 

There  that  poor  unfortunate  woman  lay,  with 
her  unconscious  tyrant  of  a  husband  snoring  beside 
her,  desolately  wakeful  under  the  night-light  in  the 
large,  luxurious  bedroom  —  three  servants  sleeping 
overhead,  champagne  in  the  cellar,  furs  in  the  ward- 
robe, valuable  lace  round  her  neck  at  that  very  in- 
stant, grand  piano  in  the  drawing-room,  horses  in 
the  stable,  stuffed  bear  in  the  hall  —  and  her  life 
was  made  a  blank  for  want  of  fourteen  and  five- 
pence!  And  she  had  nobody  to  confide  in.  How 
true  it  is  that  the  human  soul  is  solitary,  that  con- 


4i2     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tent  is  the  only  true  riches,  and  that  to  be  happy  we 
must  be  good! 

It  was  at  that  juncture  of  despair  that  she  thought 
of  mandarins.  Or  rather  —  I  may  as  well  be  frank 

—  she  had  been  thinking  of  mandarins  all  the  time 
since  retiring  to  rest.     There  might  be  something 
in  Charlie's  mandarin  theory.     .     .     .     According 
to  Charlie,  so  many  queer,  inexplicable  things  hap- 
pened in  the  world.     Occult  —  subliminal  —  astral 

—  thought-waves.     These    expressions    and    many 
more  occurred  to  her  as  she  recollected  Charlie's  dis- 
concerting   conversations.     There    might.     .     .     . 
One  never  knew. 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  her  husband's  pockets, 
bulging  with  silver,  with  gold,  and  with  bank-notes. 
Tantalising  vision!  No!  She  could  not  steal. 
Besides,  he  might  wake  up. 

And  she  returned  to  mandarins.  She  got  herself 
into  a  very  morbid  and  two-o'clock-in-the-morning 
state  of  mind.  Suppose  it  was  a  dodge  that  did 
work.  (Of  course,  she  was  extremely  superstitious; 
we  all  are.)  She  began  to  reflect  seriously  upon 
China.  She  remembered  having  heard  that  Chinese 
mandarins  were  very  corrupt;  that  they  ground  the 
faces  of  the  poor,  and  put  innocent  victims  to  the 
torture;  in  short,  that  they  were  sinful  and  horrid 
persons,  scoundrels  unfit  for  mercy.  Then  she  pon- 
dered upon  the  remotest  parts  of  China,  regions 
where  Europeans  never  could  penetrate.  No  doubt 
there  was  some  unimportant  mandarin,  somewhere 
in  these  regions,  to  whose  district  his  death  would 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    413 

be  a  decided  blessing,  to  kill  whom  would  indeed  be 
an  act  of  humanity.  Probably  a  mandarin  without 
wife  or  family;  a  bachelor  mandarin  whom  no  rela- 
tive would  regret;  or,  in  the  alternative,  a  mandarin 
with  many  wives,  whose  disgusting  polygamy  merited 
severe  punishment !  An  old  mandarin  already  pretty 
nearly  dead;  or,  in  the  alternative,  a  young  one  just 
commencing  a  career  of  infamy! 

"  I'm  awfully  silly,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 
"  But  still,  if  there  should  be  anything  in  it.  And  I 
must,  I  must,  I  must  have  that  thing  for  my  dress  1  " 

She  looked  again  at  the  dim  forms  of  her  hus- 
band's clothes,  pitched  anyhow  on  an  ottoman.  No  I 
She  could  not  stoop  to  theft! 

So  she  murdered  a  mandarin;  lying  in  bed  there; 
not  any  particular  mandarin,  a  vague  mandarin,  the 
madarin  most  convenient  and  suitable  under  all  the 
circumstances.  She  deliberately  wished  him  dead, 
on  the  off-chance  of  acquiring  riches,  or,  more  ac- 
curately, because  she  was  short  of  fourteen  and  five- 
pence  in  order  to  look  perfectly  splendid  at  a  ball. 

In  the  morning  when  she  woke  up  —  her  husband 
had  already  departed  to  the  works  —  she  thought 
how  foolish  she  had  been  in  the  night.  She  did  not 
feel  sorry  for  having  desired  the  sudden  death  of  a 
fellow-creature.  Not  at  all.  She  felt  sorry  be- 
cause she  was  convinced,  in  the  cold  light  of  day,  that 
the  charm  would  not  work.  Charlie's  notions  were 
really  too  ridiculous,  too  preposterous.  No !  She 
must  reconcile  herself  to  wearing  a  ball  dress  which 
was  less  than  perfection,  and  all  for  want  of  four- 


414     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

teen  and  fivepence.  And  she  had  more  nerves  than 
ever! 

She  had  nerves  to  such  an  extent  that  when  she 
went  to  unlock  the  drawer  of  her  own  private  toilet- 
table,  in  which  her  prudent  and  fussy  husband  forced 
her  to  lock  up  her  rings  and  brooches  every  night, 
she  attacked  the  wrong  drawer  —  an  empty  unfas- 
tened drawer  that  she  never  used.  And  lo !  the 
empty  drawer  was  not  empty.  There  was  a  sover- 
eign lying  in  it ! 

This  gave  her  a  start,  connecting  the  discovery,  as 
naturally  at  the  first  blush  she  did,  with  the  man- 
darin. 

Surely  it  couldn't  be,  after  all. 

Then  she  came  to  her  senses.  What  absurdity! 
A  coincidence,  of  course,  nothing  else !  Besides,  a 
mere  sovereign !  It  wasn't  enough.  Charlie  had 
said  "  rich  for  life."  The  sovereign  must  have  lain 
there  for  months  and  months,  forgotten. 

However,  it  was  none  the  less  a  sovereign.  She 
picked  it  up,  thanked  Providence,  ordered  the  dog- 
cart, and  drove  straight  to  Brunt's.  The  particular 
thing  that  she  acquired  was  an  exceedingly  thin,  slim, 
and  fetching  silver  belt  —  a  marvel  for  the  money, 
and  the  ideal  waist  decoration  for  her  wonderful 
white  muslin  gown.  She  bought  it,  and  left  the  shop. 

And  as  she  came  out  of  the  shop,  she  saw  a  street 
urchin  holding  out  the  poster  of  the  early  edition  of 
the  Signal.  And  she  read  on  the  poster,  in  large 
letters:  "DEATH  OF  Li  HUNG  CHANG."  It  is 
no  exaggeration  to  say  that  she  nearly  fainted. 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    415 

Only  by  the  exercise  of  that  hard  self-control,  of 
which  women  alone  are  capable,  did  she  refrain  from 
tumbling  against  the  blue-clad  breast  of  Adams,  the 
Cheswardine  coachman. 

She  purchased  the  Signal  with  well-feigned  calm, 
opened  it  and  read :  "  Stop-press  news.  Pekin. 
Li  Hung  Chang,  the  celebrated  Chinese  statesman, 
died  at  two  o'clock  this  morning. —  Renter" 

III 

Vera  reclined  on  the  sofa  that  afternoon,  and  the 
sofa  was  drawn  round  in  front  of  the  drawing-room 
fire.  And  she  wore  her  fluffiest  and  languidest 
peignoir.  And  there  was  a  perfume  of  eau  de 
Cologne  in  the  apartment.  Vera  was  having  a 
headache;  she  was  having  it  in  her  grand,  her  official 
manner.  Stephen  had  had  to  lunch  alone.  He  had 
been  told  that  in  all  probability  his  suffering  wife 
would  not  be  well  enough  to  go  to  the  ball.  Where- 
upon he  had  grunted.  As  a  fact,  Vera's  headache 
was  extremely  real,  and  she  was  very  upset  indeed. 

The  death  of  Li  Hung  Chang  was  heavily  on  her 
soul.  Occultism  was  justified  of  itself.  The  affair 
lay  beyond  coincidence.  She  had  always  known  that 
there  was  something  in  occultism,  supernaturalism, 
so-called  superstitions,  what  not.  But  she  had  never 
expected  to  prove  the  faith  that  was  in  her  by  such 
a  homicidal  act  on  her  own  part.  It  was  detestable 
of  Charlie  to  have  mentioned  the  thing  at  all.  He 
had  no  right  to  play  with  fire.  And  as  for  her  hus- 
band, words  could  give  but  the  merest  rough  out- 


4i 6     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

line  of  her  resentment  against  Stephen.  A  pretty 
state  of  things  that  a  woman  with  a  position  such  as 
she  had  to  keep  up  should  be  reduced  to  six  and 
sevenpencel  Stephen,  no  doubt,  expected  her  to 
visit  the  pawnshop.  It  would  serve  him  right  if 
she  did  so  —  and  he  met  her  coming  out  under  the 
three  brass  balls!  Did  she  not  dress  solely  and 
wholly  to  please  him?  Not  in  the  least  to  please 
herself!  Personally  she  had  a  mind  set  on  higher 
things,  impossible  aspirations.  But  he  liked  fine 
clothes.  And  it  was  her  duty  to  satisfy  him.  She 
strove  to  satisfy  him  in  all  matters.  She  lived  for 
him.  She  sacrificed  herself  to  him  completely. 
And  what  did  she  get  in  return?  Nothing!  Noth- 
ing !  Nothing !  All  men  were  selfish.  And  women 
were  their  victims.  .  ,  .  Stephen,  with  his 
silly  bullying  rules  against  credit  and  so  forth. 
.  .  .  The  worst  of  men  was  that  they  had  no  sense. 
She  put  a  new  dose  of  eau  de  Cologne  on  her 
forehead,  and  leaned  on  one  elbow.  On  the  mantel- 
piece lay  the  tissue  parcel  containing  the  slim  silver 
belt,  the  price  of  Li's  death.  She  wanted  to  stick 
it  in  the  fire.  And  only  the  fact  that  it  would  not 
burn  prevented  her  savagely  doing  so.  There  was 
something  wrong,  too,  with  the  occultism.  To  re- 
ceive a  paltry  sovereign  for  murdering  the  greatest 
statesman  of  the  Eastern  hemisphere,  was  simply 
grotesque.  Moreover,  she  had  most  distinctly  not 
wanted  to  deprive  China  of  a  distinguished  man. 
She  had  expressly  stipulated  for  an  inferior  and  in- 
significant mandarin,  one  that  could  be  spared  and 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    417 

that  was  unknown  to  Reuter.  She  supposed  she 
ought  to  have  looked  up  China  at  the  Wedgwood 
Institution  and  selected  a  definite  mandarin  with  a 
definite  place  of  residence.  But  could  she  be  ex- 
pected to  go  about  a  murder  deliberately  like  that? 

With  regard  to  the  gross  inadequacy  of  the  fiscal 
return  for  her  deed,  perhaps  that  was  her  own  fault. 
She  had  not  wished  for  more.  Her  brain  had  been 
so  occupied  by  the  belt  that  she  had  wished  only  for 
the  belt.  But,  perhaps,  on  the  other  hand,  vast 
wealth  was  to  come.  Perhaps  something  might  oc- 
cur that  very  night.  That  would  be  better.  Yet 
would  it  be  better?  However  rich  she  might  be- 
come, Stephen  would  coolly  take  charge  of  her  riches, 
and  dole  them  out  to  her,  and  make  rules  for  her 
concerning  them.  And  besides,  Charlie  would 
suspect  her  guilt.  Charlie  understood  her,  and 
perused  her  thoughts  far  better  than  Stephen  did. 
She  would  never  be  able  to  conceal  the  truth  from 
Charlie.  The  conversation,  the  death  of  Li  within 
two  hours,  and  then  a  sudden  fortune  accruing  to 
her  —  Charlie  would  inevitably  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether and  divine  her  shameful  secret. 

The  outlook  was  thoroughly  black  anyway. 

She  then  fell  asleep. 

When  she  awoke,  some  considerable  time  after- 
wards, Stephen  was  calling  to  her.  It  was  his  voice, 
indeed,  that  had  aroused  her.  The  room  was  dark. 

"  I  say,  Vera,"  he  demanded,  in  a  low,  slightly 
inimical  tone,  "  have  you  taken  a  sovereign  out  of 
the  empty  drawer  in  your  toilet-table?  " 


4i 8     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  No,"  she  said  quickly,  without  thinking. 

"  Ah !  "  he  observed  reflectively,  "  I  knew  I  was 
right."  He  paused,  and  added,  coldly,  "  If  you 
aren't  better  you  ought  to  go  to  bed." 

Then  he  left  her,  shutting  the  door  with  a  noise 
that  showed  a  certain  lack  of  sympathy  with  her 
headache. 

She  sprang  up.  Her  first  feeling  was  one  of 
thankfulness  that  their  brief  interview  had  occurred 
in  darkness.  So  Stephen  was  aware  of  the  existence 
of  the  sovereign!  The  sovereign  was  not  occult. 
Possibly  he  had  put  it  there.  And  what  did  he 
know  he  was  "  right  "  about? 

She  lighted  the  gas,  and  gazed  at  herself  in  the 
glass,  realising  that  she  no  longer  had  a  headache, 
and  endeavouring  to  arrange  her  ideas. 

"What's  this?"  said  another  voice  at  the  door. 
She  glanced  round  hastily,  guiltily.  It  was  Charlie. 

"  Steve  telephoned  me  you  were  too  ill  to  go  to 
the  dance,"  explained  Charlie,  "  so  I  thought  I'd 
come  and  make  inquiries.  I  quite  expected  to  find 
you  in  bed  with  a  nurse  and  a  doctor  or  two  at  least. 
What  is  it?"  He  smiled. 

"  Nothing,"  she  replied.  "  Only  a  headache. 
It's  gone  now." 

She  stood  against  the  mantelpiece,  so  that  he 
should  not  see  the  white  parcel. 

"  That's  good,"  said  Charlie. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Strange,  Li  Hung  Chang  dying  last  night,  just 
after  we  had  been  talking  about  killing  mandarins," 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MANDARIN    419 

she  said.  She  could  not  keep  off  the  subject.  It 
attracted  her  like  a  snake,  and  she  approached  it  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  fervently  wished  not  to 
approach  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlie.  "  But  Li  wasn't  a  manda- 
rin, you  know.  And  he  didn't  die  after  we  had 
been  talking  about  mandarins.  He  died  before." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  it  said  in  the  paper  he  died  at 
two  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  Two  a.  m.  in  Pekin,"  Charlie  answered.  "  You 
must  remember  that  Pekin  time  is  many  hours  earlier 
than  our  time.  It  lies  so  far  eastward." 

"  Oh!  "  she  said  again. 

Stephen  hurried  in,  with  a  worried  air. 

"  She  isn't  absolutely  dying,  I  find,"  said  Charlie, 
turning  to  Vera :  "  You  are  going  to  the  dance  after 
all  —  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  say,  Vera,"  Stephen  interrupted,  "  either  you 
or  I  must  have  a  scene  with  Martha.  I've  always 
suspected  that  confounded  housemaid.  So  I  put  a 
marked  sovereign  in  a  drawer  this  morning,  and  it 
was  gone  at  lunch-time.  She'd  better  hook  it  in- 
stantly. Of  course  I  shan't  prosecute." 

"  Martha !  "  cried  Vera.  "  Stephen,  what  on 
earth  are  you  thinking  of?  I  wish  you  would  leave 
the  servants  to  me.  If  you  think  you  can  manage 
this  house  in  your  spare  time  from  the  works,  you 
are  welcome  to  try.  But  don't  blame  me  for  the 
consequences."  Glances  of  triumph  flashed  in  her 
eyes. 

"  But  I  tell  you " 


420     MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Vera.  "  I  took  the  sovereign. 
I  saw  it  there  and  I  took  it,  and  just  to  punish  you, 
I've  spent  it.  It's  not  at  all  nice  to  lay  traps  for 
servants  like  that." 

"  Then  why  did  you  tell  me  just  now  you  hadn't 
taken  it?  "  Stephen  demanded  crossly. 

"  I  didn't  feel  well  enough  to  argue  with  you 
then,"  Vera  replied. 

"  You've  recovered  precious  quick,"  retorted 
Stephen  with  grimness. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  want  to  make  a  scene  before 
strangers,"  Vera  whimpered  (poor  Charlie  a 
stranger!),  "  I'll  go  to  bed." 

Stephen  knew  when  he  was  beaten. 

She  went  to  the  Hockey  dance,  though.  She  and 
Stephen  and  Charlie  and  his  young  sister,  aged 
seventeen,  all  descended  together  to  the  Town  Hall 
in  a  brougham.  The  young  girl  admired  Vera's  belt 
excessively,  and  looked  forward  to  the  moment 
when  she  too  should  be  a  bewitching  and  captivating 
wife  like  Vera,  in  short,  a  woman  of  the  world, 
worshipped  by  grave,  bearded  men.  And  both  the 
men  were  under  the  spell  of  Vera's  incurable  charm, 
capricious,  surprising,  exasperating,  indefinable,  in- 
dispensable to  their  lives. 

"Stupid  superstitions!"  reflected  Vera.  "But 
of  course  I  never  believed  it  really." 

And  she  cast  down  her  eyes  to  gloat  over  the  belt. 

THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Book  Slip — Series  4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  6003  B43mat  1912 


L  005  659  283  5 


college 
Library 


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6003 


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